Illumination
by LoveyHowl
Summary: I'm really having a hard time with the end of this show. Trying to get over it, though...picks up at the aftermath of Prince Alfonso's death with Cesare and Lucrezia trying to see their way to the future... the return of Micheletto...and the Tigress of Forli awaits her dreaded audience with Pope Alexander...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I'm really having a rough time with the end of this show. Yeah, it's just tv, but it was really a great ride. _

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Illumination

* * *

Cesare waited in the next room for his sister to administer a deadly potion to her husband that would put him out of his misery. Time passed and he realized that all was too quiet; he wondered why Lucrezia had not returned to tell him, at least, that the deed was done.

He went to her bedchamber and saw her slumped over her dead husband and immediately feared the worst; he leapt onto the bed, across his dead brother-in-law's body, and, in a panic, tried to rouse her, fearing that she had done the unthinkable.

"Lucrezia? Lucrezia!"

"I will never wash this blood away..." she moaned weakly at him.

"Then I must..." he told her then. He propelled himself away from her and then returned with a cloth and a bowl of water; he ministered to her then, speaking softly and with comforting resolve as he began to wipe the blood gently from her face. "You will be naked...clean...bloodless again—and mine..." he promised her and then took her into his loving embrace.

"Cesare..." she said his name as if in a fever.

"Sister, why would you do this?" he murmured into her neck as he stroked her hair.

"Because we are doomed," she whispered her declaration at him.

"Don't say that—I love you."

"And I, you, my love. But it is true."

"No—I won't believe that..." he said then, his voice raw and full of defiance.

"Of course you won't—you are a man, Cesare; full of pride and ambition-you are destined to break my heart, brother." Lucrezia's voice was full of exhaustion; when Cesare rose up to look into her eyes they seemed fixed on something far away from them both.

"This is not you, sis; you are a Borgia—you're stronger than this," he leveled at her. "You're in shock...you have been through too much—you are not yourself...I must take you away from here..." he made to pick her up and carry her away but she put her hand to his arm to still him, then looked very definitely into his eyes.

"This is me, Cesare. And I am tired, so very tired; of being my father's pawn; of always saying goodbye to you. If I could I would go with you; fight with you...but what would that net me in the end? A golden cage, like the Tigress chained below the Basilica? The world is not ready for her; and I would be her, if I could; but the world is not ready for me, either. This world of man is ready for no woman who is as strong as he is."

"But you are strong—you are a wonder—you are the woman that I love, Lucrezia...you are so loved..." Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes as he tried desperately to stave them away.

"Then love me now," she begged him softly.

"Not like like this...not like this..."

"Yes, like this. I have seen things, brother, as I lay here praying for death and deliverance from my heartbreak; deliverance from this prison—the kingdom—our father endeavors for himself that would entomb us and only serve to make our love more impossible than it already is. I have seen my destiny...and yours. All we've ever had are moments...and we've wasted so many—I will not commit that crime now...please...do not ask that of me..." she finished through trembling lips and her own silent, freely-flowing tears.

"Lucrezia..." he whispered her name tormentedly then buried his face in her soft golden hair.

"I lied to this poor boy, dead beside me now—you are, and always have been—the joy and love of my life, Cesare; the only one who would dare to try and understand me; love me as I really am. Take me away from here and love me now, for the last time..."

"No, not the last time..."

"Yes, brother, the last time; whether it be an hour of loving or days, there are simply not enough left to us; but of what there is I want to be consumed by you; I want to be free to be overwhelmed by you and return my favor to you in kind, for your next campaign will take you away from me forever."

Cesare rose up from her then sat beside her and took her into his arms. "What is this destiny of which you speak, sis?" he asked her, his voice sounding almost angry. He took her chin into one hand and tilted it to make her eyes meet his. "That you would have the gift of Divinity would surprise me not—but tell it to me, this destiny, so that I may make it ever lead to you..." he shook her gently, hoping that it would help to dislodge the truth from her even as he was afraid of what that truth could be.

"I can only tell you, my love, as much as I would have that be our reality, as much as I desire that wish...our destinies will never be thus..."

"No..." he hugged her to himself desperately.

"You know this deep in your heart, Cesare; it is no matter of Divine Illumination—it is simply a truth; to see it all you need do is open your eyes, brother, as I have done." She reached for him, at last, and cradled him in her embrace. "Take me from here and bathe me; cleanse me; and then let us exorcise this curse that is our love for one another and send it out of our souls so that we may both survive each other; for I took no poison, my love, to die alongside this boy; there is no poison greater...more potent...than my love for you, Cesare Borgia, and it is that which is killing me now and nothing else."


	2. Ministry

I own nothing. Except a fervent, if hopeless, desire for a fourth season.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 2 Ministry

* * *

Cesare lifted his sister gently from the bed and carried her to an empty suite; he laid her down upon a settee in the anteroom between the bedchamber and the bathing room then rang for a servant.

"Yes, my Lord," came the frightened voice of the Orsini housemaid, who had dared to look upon Lucrezia surreptitiously as she curtsied before him and was stunned to see the girl covered in so much blood.

"Draw a bath..." came his coarse, gruff command, which yanked her abruptly out of her curiosity and drew her eyes back to him and him alone. "And fetch me her nursemaid—quickly!" he ordered her.

"Yes, my Lord..." she said through trembling lips. She hurriedly went to the bathing room and lit a fire in the fireplace, then retrieved two buckets; she left the pair then to retrieve the Lady's nursemaid on the way to the kitchen. Presently Giovanni's nurse entered the room.

"My Lord! Is she alright?" said the alarmed woman as she took in the sight of her mistress.

"Prince Alfonso has been delivered from his pain, at last. Take Giovanni away from here, to my mother's palace; Lucrezia is inconsolable, at present, and I will not have her leave this place until she is well enough to travel home—tell my mother that. Have a carriage readied this instant and go tonight."

"Yes, my Lord..."

"Fetch the doctor on your way and send him to me; and send with him a sheet of Lucrezia's parchment...a quill and her wax seal...hurry..."

"Yes, my Lord..." The nursemaid then scurried away.

He went to his sister then and knelt down before her. "Did you hear that, sis?" he said after he'd taken her hand and kissed the back of it with sweet reverence. "I am sending Giovanni home to our mother, my love; and I have summoned the doctor and will have Alfonso properly seen to, and make the preliminary preparations for his...for him. Lucrezia?" The housemaid rushed past them with the first buckets of water for warming over the fire. "Lucrezia, do you hear me?" he whispered softly at her.

"I hear you, brother...thank you..." she whispered back at him tiredly.

"Before your tub is filled I shall be back..." He shot dangerous eyes then at the housemaid, who'd dared to look at them as she passed by to go and fetch more water. "On task, girl," he barked at her viciously. The girl ran out. "After the appropriate arrangements have been made I shall dispense with all but the most necessary of staff, my love, and we will be alone—until Alfonso's requiem mass." He gave a gentle kiss to her cheek as the doctor entered the room.

"Your Excellence," the doctor bowed his head and handed him the items sent to him by the nursemaid.

"Prince Alfonso..." Cesare took the doctor's arm and led him away from earshot of his sister, "...has died and his body must be seen to."

"Of course, Your Excellence. I shall see to him immediately."

Cesare went to a desk in the bedroom and began to write out a note as he directed the doctor to task. "Take his body to the Vatican and prepare it there."

"But Your Excellence," the man began uncomfortably, "his body must be prepared, right away—there is no time..."

"Is it not winter? Surely his body will keep well enough during the short distance from here to the Holy City."

"But, it can be done here and then..."

"And I would _not_ have it done here," Cesare's voice was full of threatening menace. He finished writing out his note to his father, then went to the fire in the bathing room to ready the wax for affixing. When the note was properly sealed he gave it to the doctor. "Give this note to Pope Alexander when you arrive at the Vatican, straight away. Now, take the Prince and be on your way," he ordered him.

"Yes, Your Excellence," the befuddled man bowed nervously at him and hastily took his leave.

Finally the tub was filled; Cesare had dismissed all staff save for the cook and his young apprentice.

He stood before his two uneasy charges in the kitchen. "You will only come when called," he told them when the others were all gone. "If anyone knocks upon the door you will not open it; instruct any who dares to leave a message. I do not anticipate that we will be here much longer than a week. If you are not preparing a meal then you will keep to your quarters. Am I understood?"

The old cook and the young boy at his side both nodded fearfully at him. Cesare took his leave.

When he returned to his sister at last he found her in a fitful sleep as she lay upon the settee.

"Sis...sister, wake up my love... it is time for your bath..." he said lightly as he knelt before her.

"Cesare...such awful dreams..." she moaned at him.

"Hush, now, you are awake," his soothing voice washed over her. "Your tub needs only one more bucket of warm water—come with me..." He took her to the bathing room and set her at the window seat across from the tub then poured another bucket of warm water into it. He went to Lucrezia then and undressed her slowly, reverently, as she helped him with the many difficult buttons and ties. Finally she was naked and being escorted to the tub; he assisted her as she stepped in and when she was submerged in the hot, soothing water she let out a gasp of surrender: to the heaven that was the healing water that welcomed her skin; to her brother's tender touch as he anointed her with the first gentle dab of the washcloth to her bloodied face; to their shared destiny, no matter how brief; to their love for each other, that would never die.

Her bath was a silent affair, peppered only with her intermittent sighs of relief, relishing her brother's tender ministrations as he washed her alabaster skin cleaner with every swipe of the cloth. Too bad the blood had soaked into her very soul, she lamented silently to herself. She smiled at the thought of her Cesare then, whom she knew that, if he could, would wash her soul clean, as well. As she took her comfort in that thought Cesare noticed her smile.

"Hold your head back," he commanded her as he poured a fresh warm bucket of water through her golden locks. "Sis, that smile on your face is a welcomed sight—I would know what it is that has caused it, for I would have more of them."

"It is you that makes me smile thus, brother, surely you know that. Only you," she said as she looked up at him, her eyes burning with her love and yearning for him.

Cesare dropped the bucket and hugged her to him as he buried his head into the crook of her shoulder; she raised a hand out of the water and held on to him.

"I am as clean as you can possibly make me, brother," she said after she settled a gentle kiss upon his arm. "The water is growing cold..."

"Then I shall warm you up..." he growled his love at her. He scooped out of the tub then and brought her to standing upon the floor; on his knees behind her he began to towel her body dry, starting with her legs as he alternated the dabs of the soft towel with kisses upon her body that were even softer; he worked his way up her calves, then her back of her thighs, then held her hips in his firm grasp as he lingered at her perfect backside, where she suffered a kiss and a teasing, possessive little bite to each cheek.

"Oh, Cesare," a gasp escaped her, " you would torment me this way?"

"No, sis—this is a promise, not a torment..." he moaned into the small of her back, as he held on to her, as if for dear life itself.

He abandoned his campaign to dry her body and rose to face her, then took her into his fierce embrace.

"Are you really ready for this, sis? I know that you truly grieve your husband and..." His voice was raw, full of desire but also his truest concern; Lucrezia put a finger to his lips and stilled his tongue.

"How is it that you make me love you even more than I already do?" she asked him incredulously, the wonder of him reflected back at him in her sparkling, tear-brimmed eyes. "I have been ready for you all of my life, brother—I would have nothing deny me you at this moment."

Cesare swept her up then and carried her to the bed.

It was Lucrezia's turn then to undress him and the removal of each article of his clothing was a delicious adventure in anticipation. When he was naked at last he took her into his favorite position, with her astride his lap. They nuzzled each other as they always did before they kissed, with playful, reassuring love bites infused with the promise of gentleness; a prelude to the ferocious all-consuming love that lurked so dangerously under the surface of all of their skin-to-skin contacts.

"You are mine, Lucrezia..." he moaned into her neck as he slipped her onto himself, like the glove that she was.

Lucrezia took his face into her hands and looked him deeply in his eyes."Yes, Cesare, until the day that I die..." she moaned ecstatically back at him.

Hours later they lay exhausted in each others embrace.

"That was good brother, but..."

"But? But! Why, you little imp..." Cesare shot up and took her roughly across his lap.

"Oh! Stop!" she pleaded through her giddy giggles.

"You've had so much experience that you have criticisms, sister?" he gave her beautiful rump a playful swat.

"That's just it, brother...oh! Do stop!" she laughed as he swatted her again. "Aside from you I've only ever been a boring little missionary girl—can you teach me more?"

"Ah...it is an education that you desire," he pulled her up to face him and Lucrezia blushed. "What is this? She blushes?" he smiled his intrigue at her.

"An education I desire from you alone. Would you deny me?" she asked him seriously then.

"No...no," he said awkwardly, almost taken aback by her candid and serious demeanor. "What is it that you desire to learn?"

"Well, I hardly know that's why I'm asking," she responded frustratedly. "I would know every way there is to pleasure you brother, as a real woman."

"You are a real woman, sis; and you already pleasure me in every way possible...simply because you exist..." he murmured at her then took her neck into his hand roughly, as if he would choke her, but kissed it sweetly instead.

"I've heard the sounds you've made in the arms of other women, Cesare, and I have thus far elicited no such sounds from you."

"We've only made love twice, sister...and I have no complaints..."

"Nor do I, but...there was a girl in your room once..."

"You shameless voyeur..." he smiled at her.

"Hmm...yes, I admit it..." Lucrezia said as she looked nervously down at her own hands; she cast her eyes upon him again, and on her own face was sheer puzzlement and the true desire for edification. "She had her face...buried...in your crotch and you..." Lucrezia blushed anew, "...you had a look on yours as if heaven itself had opened up for you, ready to draw you up into it...what was she doing to you, brother?" she asked him in earnest.

It was Cesare's turn to blush. "Sister, are you pulling my leg?" he managed through a choked little chuckle.

"I am not," she assured him with dead seriousness.

"Ah," he let out a lustful guffaw at her then. "This is going to be quite a week..."

* * *

Two days later Cesare went to the Vatican to check in with his father.

"Ah...Our son! Nothing like receiving the gift of a dead prince at one's door—so much better to receive a living one," his father jested as he took his son into his arms for a hug.

"I am no prince, father," Cesare responded gruffly.

"Not yet," Rodrigo smiled at him as he released him. "How is Our daughter? Is she safely appointed in her rooms?"

"She is not here."

"What? What do you mean 'she is not here'? Where is she, then?"

"She remains at Orsini Palace and I would not endeavor to take more time than is necessary to return to her."

"What madness is this, now? We would have you bring her home, Cesare, straight away—would not Our daughter benefit from the loving ministrations and concern of her Holy Father?"

"Not if she is to witness the machinations that I see so clearly swirling about in our Holy Father's head, as explicit and detailed as any fantastic Da Vinci drawing," Cesare hissed at his father. "If she were to see that you would work the most abominable ill upon her, one from which you would never recover," he assured him. "She loved him, you know," Cesare reminded him angrily, "she is in mourning; and you will give her this time to grieve before you visit your dreams of another wretched alliance upon her."

"What alliance? Have I said a word about an alliance?" Rodrigo protested weakly.

"You do not have to."

"Cesare," Rodrigo grumbled at him, outdone at being called out, "why would you insult Us so?"

"It is not my intent to insult you, Holy Father, only to make it clear that I intend to see to the best interests of my dear sister at this most horrible of times."

"And so...you will keep her at the palace, away from Us? See to her? You and you alone? Why is her mother not in attendance?"

"You know very well that her mother is needed to see after the child."

"Hmm..." Rodrigo groaned his displeasure at his son through suspicious eyes.

"She is not ready to have her grief visited upon by the eyes of the world—she will have this time of respite, Holy Father, and resurface for the requiem mass of her beloved husband; pray that she will be strong enough, then, to get on with her life. You will give her that, she has been through much." It was more of an order than a request.

"Hmm," Rodrigo snorted indignantly at his son, "and you? What of your victorious campaign? The rest of Romagna awaits the return of your glorious administration."

"And the rest of Romagna will still exist on earth when I return to administer to it. Holy Father."

The two men stared each other down.

"You must bestow my title of Papal Gonfalonier, after all, and now is not quite the time for celebration, would you not agree?" Cesare said as he broke the vehement silence between them first.

Rodrigo did not appreciate Cesare's commanding manner but grudgingly accepted the truth his son was leveling at him. "Cesare, We do not wish to fight over this..." Rodrigo began as the features on his face and the tone in his voice softened.

"We are not fighting, father." Cesare's tone was still angry and resolute.

"Yes, alright, until the requiem mass. Give Our daughter Our love and tell her that Our deepest sympathies and prayers are with her," Rodrigo sighed his resignation.

Cesare gave an angry bow of his head and left his father to go and see to another before he returned to his sister.

* * *

"Cesare Borgia..." Her voice was the like the caress of fine silk; wickedly tantalizing and sinfully inviting. "Please tell me that you have come to release me to my death." Her smile, though sweet, was an effort, evidenced by the corners which struggled to hold it in place.

"That would not suit me, Countess."

"I am not concerned with what suits you, Your Excellence," her voice was proud yet calm, "I would rather be released to Hell to consort with demons, rankle them with tales of the Borgia Pope, who is better accomplished than even they dare to be. Their jealous abuses would be more tolerable—and welcomed—than what surely awaits me at the hands of your father." A single tear dropped from one of her eyes; Cesare gave her a only a reprimanding look through his furrowed brow as he sighed at her and advanced upon her in her gilded cage; she turned her head abruptly away from him.

He produced the key and unlocked the cage door, then held his hand out to her. "Caterina..." he softly called her name.

She found herself utterly unable to move, and certainly had no desire to have him witness more of her tears; she tried desperately to collect herself.

"Caterina..." he called out her name again, just barely above a whisper. "I am here to escort you to your true quarters, those befitting a woman of your stature."

"Prison—call it truly what it is, for I will not be a party to such delusions," she retorted angrily, still unable to face him.

"You have my promise that my father will not hurt you," he said then. Caterina's head whipped around and her face was full of fury.

"You can make no such promise and you know it. You were here; you saw the look on your father's face as he accosted me in this very cage..."

"And you almost bit off his finger, dear lady," Cesare said amusedly.

"I would have bitten off more, had I not been chained, and stuffed his abominable parts down his throat to choke on," she spit at him.

"Caterina, calm yourself and come with me now, I would have you at your ease."

"Then kindly kill me now, Your Excellence," she requested as she grudgingly took his hand at last.

"I would not make your children motherless, Countess."

"Ah...if only you'd had such regard for me where my Benito had been concerned..."

"Caterina..."

"You've granted death to so many, Cesare Borgia—to refuse my request now is the grandest of cruelties."

"You will not think so when you have been released, Countess," he told her matter-of-factly.

"And so you will doom me to suffer the penalties your father will surely inflict upon me."

"I will say this, my Lady," he leaned down and spoke into the bereft woman's ear as he escorted her from the dungeon, "your appointed rooms contain no chains or shackles; I am sure that if there is anyone on this earth that can give my father another think coming that one would be you, Tigress."

"Ah...from promises of safety to instructions for self-defense. Unless you have left me the present of a fine dagger hidden under my bed pillow you can only wish me well, then, Cesare Borgia," she said bitterly.

Cesare saw the Countess delivered safely to her quarters in Castel Sant'Angelo then rushed back to Orisini Palace and the waiting arms of his sister.


	3. A Brother In Arms

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 3 A Brother In Arms

* * *

There was yet another Cesare had to see to, one who awaited him clandestinely in the deserted great room on the first floor of Orsini Palace.

"I'm surprised to find you still here...I thought you might have run off to your own freedom, by now." Cesare said as he marched into the room, torch in hand.

"I am...a _professional _of my word, Your Excellence."

_But are you to be trusted,_ Cesare questioned himself honestly as he stopped before the man and took his careful measure. "You've fared well, I see, these past two days," Cesare said as he secured the torch to a wall.

"No great feat at all, Your Excellence, in an empty palace with a kitchen so well stocked; plenty of shelter without its walls, even against winter's cold."

"Hmm...and awaiting what, Rufio?" He approached him again.

"Your orders, certainly, Your Excellence."

"No one has seen you?"

"There are only three here now, Your Excellence—they have not seen me."

"Before that...that night."

"No one has seen me, Your Excellence," Rufio assured him firmly. "I see that my services were not needed after all, _that night_," Rufio gave a deep bow at Cesare.

Cesare bristled inwardly at Rufio's affrontery. "It seems not," he responded curtly.

"Prince Alfonso...has _met_ his end and is at peace, at last, may he so rest."

"Surely you know that your deliberate words arouse my suspicions of you and do nothing to help instill my trust in you."

"I believe my predecessor started out much the same way, Your Excellence. He was hired to kill you and your father, I believe, was he not? How it speaks to your character that one such as he would experience a shift in allegiance and dedicate himself to you instead. Did he not prove to be a most loyal servant?"

"That and much more, Rufio—he was my brother in arms."

"Ah, and much better that than a brother by blood."

The flash of Cesare's sword and then the tip of it suddenly at Rufio's throat only made him raise an eyebrow.

"Tread carefully, assassin, for you have seen much; I know that your true loyalties lie with the Lady imprisoned in Castel Sant'Angelo; I know that you would turn against me and the Borgia Pope all of Rome despises before the beat of a heart would complete itself—tell me why I should not run you through now?" Cesare pressed his steel into Rufio's throat just enough to draw blood.

"You do not need me to tell you any such thing, Your Excellence, but I will humor you—you need my services; I need a job. Very simple is it not?" Rufio kept his gaze locked on Cesare's furious eyes.

"Nothing is ever simple in Rome, assassin," Cesare snarled at him. "Especially not for a Spanish Pope."

"And I would defend that Spanish Pope...and you, Your Excellence, without dereliction of duty."

"And to what do we owe such an oath of fealty?"

"Honestly I will say, the will of my Lady, who even in defeat had the foresight to recognize the tide of the future and the greatness of her enemy; she recommended me to seek out promotion under your formidable regime."

"You cannot serve two masters, Rufio."

"My Lady is deposed, Your Excellence, and I am no longer in her employ. I am in yours. I may yet hold her in high regard, but my service is to you alone—she wished me success, you see, being that she was very much my sister in arms."

Rufio's easy words did not comfort Cesare at all.

"I see that you are not convinced, Your Excellence. I only ask that you give me time to prove myself, as you did your greatly esteemed Captain Corella."

"I am not seeking a replacement for Don Micheletto for that is a thing not possible on this earth, so never utter his name to me again, do you understand?" Cesare hissed at him.

"Yes, Your Excellence." Rufio was ever calm and collected, which maddened Cesare greatly as he struggled to keep his own composure.

"What I require of you now is to return to Forli, as my lieutenant, and join the Bishop of Triani, who is already posted there. I shall be returning to my duties in full after Prince Alfonso is laid to rest and my official title of Gonfalonier is bestowed upon me by the Pope, in less than the next two weeks." Cesare reluctantly withdrew his sword.

"Yes, Your Excellence."

"Make haste, Rufio," Cesare dismissed him. Rufio bowed and left him thus.

All that Cesare could think about at that moment was who he might dispatch to kill Rufio; he had hired the man to kill Alfonso, after all; whether he had carried out the task or not, that fact alone was enough to end his own burgeoning career before it started and ruin any further plans of his Holy Father's; and that it had actually been Lucrezia that had done it...she simply had to be protected, at all costs. They all had to be.

He paced the floor, uneasy that he let the man leave the palace without being in hot pursuit to take him out himself. He wanted to feel Lucrezia's arms about him, the only thing that had remained constant in his thoughts since he had left her. But he knew that he should go tearing out and spill the man's blood safely out of the palace, before he got any further down the road. Surely he would go to the Holy City to rescue his lady and then tell all of Rome what had truly transpired in the palace on the night of the Prince's death. So why were his feet so affixed to the floor? What devil had him in its grip that would allow ruin to ride into Rome and call itself Rufio?

"He lies to you, Cesare, and you know it," came a voice from the darkness of the barely-lit room. Cesare wheeled around, searching for the face that belonged to the voice frantically.

"Micheletto?" he whispered his name, his voice full of shocked joy.

"I am here, Cesare," he heard his invisible friend say.

"I thought you said I would never see you again," Cesare smiled broadly as he still looked about.

"And do you see me, Your Excellence?" Cesare could hear the smile in Micheletto's voice.

"No," he let out a hearty guffaw, " I certainly do not."

"You are my family, Cesare Borgia, and I will look out for you and yours until my last and dying breath. Take your comfort—Rufio is mine."

"Micheletto? Micheletto!" Cesare called out desperately to him. But Micheletto, ever a man of the shadows, was gone.


	4. Because The Dagger Knows My Heart

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 4 Because The Dagger Knows My Heart

* * *

When he gave himself over to the fact that his friend was indeed gone, Cesare took the torch from the wall and went to the kitchen. It was late by then; the cook and his apprentice had long deserted their duties for their quarters and the hearth and the room were cold. Cesare went to the cellar and retrieved a carafe of red wine; from the kitchen he gathered a loaf of bread, two goblets, a flask of water, a fine selection of fresh pears and a bowl of sultanas into a basket; he traded his torch for a small candelabra burning above the hearth and then went bounding upstairs to his sister in their suite.

He entered their room quietly, for Lucrezia was asleep; he set their repast on the desk in the anteroom; the water, wine and goblets he brought with him and set upon the bedside table. Lucrezia stirred in her sleep, aware then that she was blessedly no longer alone and looked up at him with drowsy eyes.

"How are you, my love?" he asked as he looked down at her, busying himself with the removal of his cloak.

"Happier, now that you have returned...I take back what I said before, Cesare..." she smiled at him.

"And what is that, sis?" he smiled back at her as he tossed his cloak on a nearby chair, then took his seat on the edge of the bed to face her.

"I would gladly say goodbye to you a thousand times, as long as I may greet you a thousand times in return, with a kiss upon these lips."

Cesare smiled at her and put his forehead to hers; he wanted to promise her that he would make it so but his heart made it impossible to allow his lips to utter such a lie to her; his squeezed his eyes shut tightly and concentrated on the feel of her warm skin against his own instead of the many worries plaguing him. "Have you been asleep long?" he asked her when he opened his eyes again to look into hers.

"Most of the day and evening...my body knows an exhaustion it has never felt before; not even bringing Giovanni into the world wrought this much exhaustion upon me," she said, her voice tinged with amazement.

"It is no wonder, sis...at least, not to me," he ventured softly at her. "I have brought food...maybe in concert with your long hours of sleep sustenance would now be the thing to help replenish your strength, yes?" Cesare poured a goblet of wine for her.

"Yes, I am parched..." Lucrezia sat up then and stopped him from his task, "for the feel of your lips upon me, brother."

"Oh?" he set the goblet down, "and where would you have my lips begin with you, sis? Here?" He pushed her gently back against the headboard and lowered the sheet over her naked body, following its trail with gentle kisses that led to the inside of her thigh, threatening to follow his course even further inward; he stopped abruptly and rose up slowly to look at her with a knowing smirk. "Or do other lips call first for my attention?"

"Gentleman's choice, dear brother," she moaned at him as she took a handful of his soft, long locks in hand and pushed his head gently toward the heaven between her legs; he stopped to look up at her again, a smile of pure and devilish joy upon his face, then happily obliged her.

* * *

"_La novizia_ desires to know if _Il Maestro_ finds her competent," she asked him after their third round of lovemaking.

"Well, sister..." Cesare began pompously of voice, as if he were an old man "I would say that you have great perseverance; the initiative you show—exceptional, young lady, exceptional, indeed...hmm..." he chuckled wickedly as he cocked one eyebrow and stroked his scruffy beard in self-satisfied contemplation.

Lucrezia laughed out loud at his comical impression that actually sounded more like their father in his best humor.

"You have most assuredly met mine, but would you say that you have met your own?"

"Met my own what?"

"Ambitions, dear lady, of course...hmm?"

"I have met your ambitions, Cesare?"

"Did you not hear evidence of it with your own ears all of these hours? I believe that was your initial goal, was it not?" Cesare's voice was his own again and very serious.

Lucrezia blushed her answer at her brother.

"This shyness you possess—it is more intoxicating than any wine, are you aware of that, sis? I speak words that you seem to find so unbelieving—how is that?" he asked her incredulously as he took her sweet face into his hands and made her cast her eyes back upon him instead of her wringing hands. "So beautiful, you are; so fair; so formidable—you are the best of us Borgia's and so misunderstood...so severely misused and still you hold your honor and bearing as regally as any Queen born to a throne. Are you really of this earth, Lucrezia? And are you really here, in my arms? How can it be that you are so unaware of how much you please me, sis? That will ever be a question for the ages..." he kissed her neck hungrily.

"Your words are kind and appreciated, but I am none of those things—except a Borgia; murderous; conniving—selfish..." she began through a little hiccup as she tried desperately not to give herself over to burgeoning tears as she pushed herself away from him.

"No sister, that is your father and your brothers and a bastard's bad luck of the draw..." he said as he took her by her arms and pulled her back into him. "You, of all of us, deserved so much better than this—you deserved a life of true happiness."

"And you as well, brother—I would have that for you, if it were within my power," tears were flowing fully then as she tried to look away from him.

"No, please don't cry...please," he begged her, his voice full of torment. "These two days have been the happiest days of my life—you have given me that, Lucrezia, and three more to look forward to...come on now, stop this crying, my love; the only way you could please me more is beyond our capabilities, for I would desire to live in a world where we could marry; live our lives in the open and grow old together."

"Yes, we've...we've... played that hopeless...hopeless little game before, haven't we?" she reminded herself sadly through her choked sobs. "So amazing that our mother...a...a courtesan no less, was so devoted to _him_ that she bore him four undisputed bastards. Just think: my Giovanni could fall in love with a daughter of mine by another man and they could both fool themselves by calling each other cousin, then go on with their lives..." she tried to joke through her tears.

"Lucrezia, stop this—that's not true and you know it..." he reprimanded her lightly.

"They could..." her cries became more intense as he took her again into his embrace.

"They could not, sister...blood is blood, it would change nothing for them as it would have changed nothing for us. I will never apologize for my love for you..."

"Easy to do when you cannot openly declare it to the world to begin with, brother," she said bitterly.

"Lucrezia..."

"I'm sorry, Cesare—I did not mean that..." she began in horror at her own self. "A declaration to the world is not what I want, I just want to be free to want you...I just..."

"I know what you want sister and I take no offense for I want the same...you must ease yourself," he spoke softly into her hair as he cradled her.

"Yes, the only man on this earth that will ever understand me."

"And you are the only woman who will ever understand me, Lucrezia; I have committed many sins—I'm not even worthy of your love..."

"That is a lie..."

"It is not, but how I thank the Universe that you love me anyway, my Lady..." he turned her face up to his gently. "I have done horrible things and I regret much, know that; but within myself...within my heart—I will never regret you."

"Nor I, you, Cesare. I do not think, brother, that I'm doing very well at exorcising my love for you from my soul...I'm sure I was crazy to think that I could..."

"No, not crazy—only endeavoring do that which you thought was right; and we have not succeeded, have we?" he smiled sympathetically at her.

"No, we have not."

"Because that ambition was wrong, Lucrezia, not our love for each other. Don't you understand? You think we must survive each other, but we can _only_ survive as long as we have each other; no matter that we may be apart or what other we may be with—as long as we are both in here..." Cesare took her hand and put it to his heart then took his and put it to hers, "...you are my strength, Lucrezia; you are my better half and my true love, always and forever, no matter what, no matter who, till death do us part and I would celebrate our love, not choose to exorcise it—that is a thing that is simply impossible for me to do; more impossible, even, than my love for you."

"My Cesare..." Lucrezia broke down completely then.

"Yes, your Cesare...and my Lucrezia...yes..." he murmured at her through his closed eyes.

"Cesare..."

"You need this cry, sister; you must get it out...for me...for Alfonso...for yourself."

"Oh, my God...Cesare..." she continued to sob into his chest.

"Your capacity to love is boundless, Lucrezia, just as my understanding of you is...and my love for you; I would not have either of us ever have to try and explain ourselves to each other, do you hear me? But as much as I want you all to myself I could never harbor ill-will toward a man who would dare to truly make you happy—I would be insanely jealous, of course..."

Lucrezia let out an involuntary chuckle. "No matter what my torment you manage always to make me laugh..." she managed before her crying jag reclaimed her.

"You must know...that what happened with Alfonso was a horrid accident, Lucrezia..." he managed finally, his voice full and raw and real remorse.

"Ah...you thought Alfonso was that man..."

"Wasn't he?"

"Let it weigh on your soul no longer, brother, please," she looked up at him then. "You are not Juan...and Alfonso was not you."

"But I am still so very sorry..."

"If I didn't know that we would not be here now. And thank you for that, brother, it means everything to me to hear you say and know that you mean it. I did love him, but not as he truly deserved. His torment was my fault alone. My marriage to Sforza was annulled—and so should the same favor have been done for that boy, the morning after you and I made love, Cesare; for my heart was gone from him then, completely; a true wife I was destined never to be for him. Father would have loved that one," she said as she wiped at her tears, her voice bitter again.

"He would have, actually—he had his sights set on an even better alliance before the ink on your marriage contract had cooled—before it had even been written, I dare say," Cesare grunted disgustedly. "To think of all you could have been spared..."

"Not just me, Cesare, all of us—do you never think of yourself?" she asked him exasperatedly.

"We've not been raised to..." Cesare's voice gave out then as he looked away from her and tried not to choke on the reality of his next words, "... to think of ourselves, Lucrezia." It was her turn to put her hand gently to his chin and turn his gaze back upon her.

"His worst crime against us, Cesare. We _could _run away and go somewhere we are not known...and be happy, at last...but it is impossible because as much as you love me _his _will leads you elsewhere and away from me..."

Cesare shot his gaze away from her.

"_His_ will, that has always been confused with your destiny..." she said cautiously and softly of voice.

Cesare had been holding his breath tensely as he listened to her and expelled it upon a tortured, gut-wrenching grunt of confirmation. "Lucrezia, why would you plunge this dagger into my heart now?" his angry words exploded at her as he turned back to face her.

"Because I understand you! Because the dagger knows my heart, as well, Cesare! If we cannot have each other can we at least be free? I want your happiness, as surely as that means that I cannot have you, but I want you living and breathing and alive to enjoy it!" she cried out desperately at him. "Our father's will leads you to certain death..."

"The life of a _soldier_ leads me to the possibility of an early death, Lucrezia," he corrected her angrily as he peeled her off of him and rose up and away from the bed. "A man knows that going in."

"He will not live forever, Cesare; we are in eminent need of seeing to our own happiness, of carving something out for ourselves, independently of him, before the day comes that we lose the favors of his unstable influence..."

"You have that little faith in my ability, sis?" The insult registered on his face was breaking her heart.

"No, Cesare, you know better than that—I only have fear—fear of our many enemies, who will increase a thousand-fold at the moment of his last breath," she said delicately.

"That's what I'm doing, Lucrezia!" he railed at her. "I am the Duke of Valentinois—Romagna is mine next! If you understand me so well then you will say not another word, Lucrezia Borgia, for I will leave this place—and you—and begin this destiny you believe that I've had no hand in carving out for myself—this very night!" He went about the room then, snatching up his clothes angrily.

"Cesare—where are you going?" Lucrezia tried to keep her voice calm but her throat was choked with the tears she was trying unsuccessfully to hold back. "Cesare?"

"I need air..." he managed to say through gritted teeth and then left without looking at her.


	5. Loyalties

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 5 Loyalties

* * *

Micheletto rode through the cold night, the wind biting at his cheeks, but felt none of it; he thought he would never feel anything again, but slowly he had come back to himself, still numb, but no longer the walking dead man he had been. How well it had done his heart the night he went to Cesare sleeping in his tent, bearing the strategy that would bring his brother victory. He'd harbored no ill-will at him over Pascal, for the fault of his undoing had been his own; anyone who thought they knew a damn would think his heart had been broken over killing the boy that he had come to love, but that was not it at all; what had driven him away was his shame at letting Cesare down so spectacularly; that he had dropped his guard enough for it to happen at all.

Cesare would never know the true depth of his love for him—or maybe, deep-down, in that place where men hid the truest parts of their souls from their own selves for safe-keeping, he really did. Whatever the case, Cesare had been man enough to accept that most private revelation about him and had not judged; had been man enough to love him and still call him friend, and continue to trust Micheletto with his life. If Cesare was a man he could dream about in the most private recesses of his soul and his heart and never be the wiser that would have ever been enough; but to hear his words declared at Rufio that night had made his heart soar to the heavens: _"That and much more, Rufio—he was my brother in arms."_ The flash of steel in the dark room and perfume that was Rufio's blood riding on the drafty air as Cesare said, _"I am not seeking a replacement for Don Micheletto for that is a thing not possible on this earth..." _was a vision burned forever into his brain; those words, still echoing in his head, made him do that which he rarely did: smile.

Pascal had gotten what he surely deserved but Micheletto thanked God that Cesare had not rendered what Micheletto felt he had deserved, which would have been not only his anger, but his truest disappointment and banishment; he would not have been able to bear that. The concern that Micheletto had seen in Cesare's eyes for him that night in his tent at Forli, well, he had been cautious not to read too much into; but the joy in Cesare's voice he'd heard that night at Orsini Palace was unmistakable and Micheletto could feel himself finally returning to the world of the living, one foot in, at least; Rufio's blood on his bare hands would help to bring him back firmly planted on his two.

He knew exactly where Rufio was headed and the little bit of lead-time his target had on him was of no consequence; he would let him go to his Lady with a plan for her escape, which would not be that night; no, he would need time to meet with her, detail the particulars and then make the arrangements. But those arrangements would never come to fruition and Rufio would not survive to see the sunrise.

* * *

Rufio, miles ahead of him and almost at the Vatican, laughed to himself silently over the fool that was Cesare Borgia: the counterfeit Duke of Valentinois; would-be ruler of Romagna; the pagan, bastard Spaniard who would be king if he could! Yes, that was a laugh, and a good one. The unholy Cardinal who couldn't shuck his defiled scarlet robe and biretta fast enough and imagined himself a military genius; the heathen son-of-a-whore not satisfied enough with his mother's own kind to drown his Borgia dick in the brothels of Rome as his father and brother had done, but would surely fuck his own sister blind before morning; common Catalan criminals who had the gall to think that they could rule over Rome and Romans and good Italian people by day and murder real Princes of Italy by night; a man who would kill his own brother, for surely he was guilty and no one would ever be able to convince Rufio differently.

He thought of all of those things and more; of all the plots his Lady had devised yet had not triumphed; of the the personal risk to himself in delivering the Plague to the Vatican itself and how nothing had put the Borgia Pope yet in his waiting grave. And what did any of it matter in the end? Nothing, for Cesare had walked up to him in his cell and offered Rufio his downfall on a silver platter in the guise of a contract for the murder of the Prince of Naples. He laughed out loud as he thought of his own murderous acquaintances who had often joked of this enemy or that who had "accidentally" fallen upon their sword; that it had actually been the case with the unfortunate Prince was rich, yet so wrong. And to put him out of his misery the Borgia Bitch had poisoned him. Did she know, he wondered, as she yet lay with her brother, most-likely calling out her ecstasies to God at that very moment, that Cesare had planned her husband's certain murder that night? What a fucking lot of degenerates they all were, he thought as a disgusted grunt of insult escaped him.

He rode onward; his silent outrage, over the fact that they had existed in Rome as long as they had, was more warming against the winter night air than his own cloak. Give one enough rope, the old saying went...amazing that, after all of the failed attempts on the Pope's life, all anyone had ever needed to do was wait, apparently, for them to finally go too bold and too far. Well, now their day of reckoning was coming, at last. He would deliver his Lady from her prison and together they would hasten that day.

Rufio had learned that Caterina was not being detained on the second floor of the prisons, but in a Papal apartment on fourth floor and it was his plan to use the Passetto di Borgo, the corridor that connected the Vatican to the Castle, to get to her. It had been amazingly easy to slip in unnoticed with just his hooded cloak on and within a half hour of arriving at the Vatican he had found her. He slipped a note under the barred door and waited.

"Rufio? Rufio!" came her frantic whisper through the door.

"My Lady...are you alright?"

"I am alright—and you? Are you alright?"

"I am."

"This place is curiously deserted, Rufio, but the guards come three times a day to bring food and after sunset only one, who every hour on the hour makes a cursory check of the lock—he should be here soon..."

"Good, my Lady, just the thing I needed to know. I have much to tell you but you can see from my note I'm here to see exactly how to get you out of here...I see what I will need...this time tomorrow you will be a free woman again," he whispered back at her. On the other side of the door the Countess gave a heavy sigh of relief.

"He's coming for me at the end of this week, Rufio..."

"Who, my Lady?"

"The Borgia Pope himself...but thanks to you I will be spared that meeting."

"Yes, my Lady, most assuredly."

"All the same, I would give anything for a blade..."

"I have nothing that will fit under this door, my Lady..."

"Alright...alright...I shall calm myself...I shall calm myself," she whispered more to herself than Rufio.

"Yes, my Lady—tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night—thank you, Rufio, and Godspeed."

"Yes, my Lady."

"No...I think not," came a hushed but authoritative voice from a figure down the narrow hall; he stood tall and at attention, one hand at the hilt of his sword, the other clutching the inner sleeve attachment of his doublet. He was not a guard.

"Rufio? Who is that? Rufio?" came Caterina's desperate whispers through the door.

"You!" Rufio hissed at his enemy with all of the venom of a cobra poised to strike.

"Yes..." the man said calmly, "...me."


	6. To Hate And To Love

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 6 To Hate And To Love

* * *

Micheletto gave a little lean forward into the moonlight shinning down the narrow hall through a mullioned window so that his surprised enemy could get an even better look at him; he cocked his head to one side, settled his piercing azure blue eyes upon the man and spoke to him as if he were a complete dullard. "There—is that better? Are your eyes in concert now with your pea-sized brain?"

"Insults? From you? A mama's boy? A soft little broken-hearted Sodomite? I don't know which is the worse abomination, that you're a son of Forli or its traitor, Borgia-lover..." Rufio sneered at him.

"Ah, but some things do not require a choice; I'll gladly bear your hatred for being both."

"You would."

"And so pleased to finally make _your _acquaintance, Rufio..."

"We have met before, Captain Corella."

"You did not let me finish—I meant to add while I am conscious, you coward," Micheletto's smile was full of deadly mirth.

"Not cowardice at all, Captain—consideration, I would be inclined to say—I did not wish to disturb, for you slept so soundly and so..._sweetly_."

Micheletto ignored his enemy's juvenile slur.

"And where have you been? I suppose licking your own wounds provides a special pleasure for you—and that would take some time, would it not? Or maybe you found a replacement for your beloved Pascal to take up that task for you? Who knew that a Sodomite possessed as much heart that it could be broken? And we won't even begin to discuss what a poor excuse of an assassin you are. And they said you were my equal..." Rufio spat upon the floor.

"Are you done yet?" Micheletto asked him in his cool, officious manner, completely unfazed, his head cocked then to the other side.

"I will be done after I've run my blade through your ass and sliced your body in half like the swine that you truly are."

"You've quite the preoccupation with my ass, Rufio—have you tried confession? I've heard that it works wonders for the guilty soul."

"How dare you!" Rufio drew his sword and charged down the hall in a rage; he lunged at Micheletto's heart; Micheletto dodged him effortlessly and Rufio collided with the wall, at which point Micheletto took his sword by the flat side and swatted Rufio's arse with it, as if he were a naughty school boy. Rufio's face was flush with rage and embarrassment as he sprang away from the wall to face off again.

"Argh! To your hell, Sodomite!" _Where are the guards_, Rufio wondered silently to himself as he yelled out loudly, hoping to make enough noise at least to draw them into the vicinity and cause enough distraction to use to his advantage.

From the inside of her apartment Caterina listened to their exchange in despair.

"Did you really think that you were such a success, stealing into the Vatican and finding your lady so easily and unimpeded?" Micheletto asked him quietly.

Rufio was momentarily taken aback. _Does the demon dare to read my mind?_ He looked aghast at his enemy.

"You are in my backyard, remember..." Micheletto smirked when he saw the disgust registered on his enemy's face as Rufio caught his wicked double entendre and the fact that the Vatican had indeed been Micheletto's second home; of course he had released the guards, who knew him all too well and would follow his orders unquestioned as Cesare Borgia's loyal and trusted _Condotierri_.

"You will die this night, Don Micheletto Corella, that is a promise," Rufio raged at him and struck his first mocking blow upon Micheletto's shoulder.

"Oh yes, I will die—as violently as I have lived, certainly..." Micheletto jumped lightly away from him, undaunted by his feint, then produced his anlace as if out of thin air and sliced effectively at the unsuspecting man's neck, where a fine line of blood began to paint his throat red. "...but not this night...and not at your sorry hand..."

"Ruffian!" Rufio yelled as he gripped his smarting throat with his free hand, "you fight like a desperate street urchin..."

"I'm not fighting, Rufio—I'm having fun..." he said as he lunged at his enemy in earnest with his sword and gave him a taste of what he thought he wanted; their swords sang their discord at each other as they fought further down the hall, bouncing off the walls before they erupted into a small lobby that led down to the next floor; they engaged in a vigorous and circular parry around the room before Micheletto found himself just at the top of the staircase; caught up in the heat of the moment and a seemingly clear shot at his nemesis, at last, Rufio charged him; Micheletto ducked and allowed his body to be the catalyst for tripping his over-zealous foe down the hard stone stairs. Rufio caught himself somehow half-way down; on fire with rage he collected himself and raced back up the stairs.

"Ah! too bad—a broken neck would have been an honorable death, Rufio!" Micheletto grunted at him as he swung his sword at his torso when he reached the top of the stairs. "Shall we try again?" he asked as he watched the man closely, as if he was awaiting the outcome of an easy bet. Rufio, who had just barely avoided his blade, was teetering on his tip-toes, desperately trying to maintain his balance to keep from falling back down them again; he grabbed at a tapestry on the wall and propelled himself forward just mere seconds before Micheletto severed it with a clean slice horizontal to the rod.

"Better?" Micheletto taunted him as they dueled again, Rufio advancing him backwards and to the hallway where they had started.

But Micheletto bested him again as their swords crossed, locked against Rufio's chest with his back against a wall. "Is this better? Huh?" Micheletto nodded his own head at him, as if to elicit Rufio's answer of 'yes'.

With all of his strength Rufio pushed him off and tried to regroup himself as he backed defensively away; they were back within earshot of Caterina, who was plastered against her door in horrified suspense; Micheletto looked at him then as if he were an insect trapped under a glass and ready to be dissected. They stared each other down.

_This man thinks love is a weakness and he judges me for feeling it and for whom I've felt it; but love and killing...they go together for me, always, inextricably bound; and because they do I am a stronger man: a better son, for I loved my father, even as I ran my sword through his heart; a better brother, for I have protected well those that depend on me to do so; a better assassin, for my target is always centered and my aim is sure; and though killing is my trade, love has made me human, for am I not a man with a soul? He is soulless; and a failure—because he did not and would not love..._

"If you'd truly loved your Lady..." Micheletto began slowly, as Rufio stood en guard unable to tear his eyes away from those piercing blue orbs, hanging on every whispered word, "she would not be captive now, at the hands of a man she hates with her whole soul—and fears. You did not protect her, Rufio..."

"What?" Rufio's eyes beamed pure hate at Micheletto.

"Did she not ask you to make sure that she would not be captured alive?"

"What?" The disbelief at what Rufio was hearing and the implication of how it came to be that he was hearing it from Micheletto's lips made him loosen his grip upon his sword in shock.

"You called me a poor excuse of an assassin, did you not? But who is the failure here really, Rufio, huh?"

"_Oh Rufio, do not listen to him," _Caterina clasped her hands together and admonished him silently as if in prayer from behind her barricaded door.

"Oh, you've killed many—innocents; incidental targets—again I ask you: who is the failure? You could have killed me, on more than one occasion, yet...here we are... discussing failure..."

"I can kill you still...Sodomite...traitor!" But even Caterina could hear that Rufio did not feel the conviction of his own words.

"Judge me, if you will; or not; how you choose to spend your last conscious thoughts matter not to me, Rufio..." _For I know nothing of God except that __ I deliver souls to Him that He would judge, not I; just as I know I will die and be judged and my soul sent to where He would send it._ Micheletto's eyes bore into Rufio's, his thoughts a mystery to the man before him. "I love you, Rufio, enough to send you to God now; vengeance may be sweet—but it is not mine—only He can render your just reward. And for what you have done to me and mine, you shall surely have it."

Micheletto rushed him then, knocked Rufio's sword out of his hand, then dropped his own upon the floor and pinned him against the wall with his bare hands around his slippery, bloody throat, all as if in one seamless move. Without anymore words between them he choked the life out of him, pressing his hands so deeply into him that his own knuckles dug into the the stone wall behind the dying man's head. When the last light flickered out of his eyes Micheletto dropped his body in a heap with a soft thud against the floor. When he examined his hands he found the skin shredded and bleeding but he felt nothing; nothing except his two feet planted firmly on the floor beneath him ready to walk out of the castle and reunite with earth again. But first he had another task to see to.

Behind her door crouched Caterina, her hands clamped across her mouth stifling her silent scream and violent sobs. Micheletto went to the door and kneeled before it.

"You are a formidable woman, my Lady; but as you well know your man is dead. And I would kill you...but I cannot—only because it is the will of Cesare Borgia that you live. Pray that he never changes his mind," he whispered at her through the door.

Caterina heard him stand and walk away; she strained to hear him retrieve Rufio's body but her ears could make out nothing else definable except a profound and deafening silence.


	7. Confounded

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 7 Confounded

* * *

Lucrezia was feeling listless and anxious. She had not meant to upset Cesare but the words had to be said, for he indeed, never thought of himself first. She had admonished him years ago that he must find love first for himself before he could love anyone else and she was not convinced that he had done that, at all.

She had not been privy to it but she knew that he and her father had made some peace between each other, a peace, thus far, that had not been garnered between father and daughter. As long His Holiness endeavored to hold Naples and France within the power of his grip it would mean rancor, always between her and her brother. But no—she was a princess of Naples no longer: Alfonso was no more. And what did it matter? Her father would only enjoin her to some other country that Cesare could spar with.

And what had it cost? Only a life. Alfonso; that poor, sweet innocent boy. She would hold shame in her heart forever over her treatment of him, and regret that his life had been caught up in her father's deadly web of intrigue and ambition. _Chess pieces on a board, all of us_, she thought bitterly to herself.

She was so tired of it all. All she wanted was a life; free of war and treachery; of politics and discord; of alliances, deadly and fleeting; and the rivers of blood that came along with all of it. She wanted Cesare to have a life. Oh, that he had only been an artist, like Da Vinci or Michelangelo—or a damned baker or butcher or accountant, for that matter—something simple and peaceful and yes, ordinary. She had half-siblings somewhere, living ordinary lives; then again, they had not been claimed by the Borgia Pope and were very bitter, especially Bernardo Sailór dei Venezia, she'd heard tell from Cesare; he'd sought Cesare out in the confessional once, not very long after he'd joined the consistory, and confessed quite a few things, indeed. Cesare had told her about it then and said that his heart was bitter and his soul was blacker than Juan's, which had greatly unsettled her and still did. How many lives had the ambitions of Rodrigo Borgia ruined?

Lucrezia tried to tear herself away from those thoughts, but it seemed of late that she was consumed by them. The 'What If' game was a terrible one to play and no matter what she imagined for herself or her brother they always came out on the losing side, for reality always came careening back to the fore; the reality of what it meant to live in the world—a man's world. And a man's world was full of war. Every continent was embroiled in some play for more more land, more riches—more power.

That Cesare had the natural heart, soul and ability of a soldier was no surprise and no anomaly, she admitted to herself. But she hated to her core that their father had ignored that in him, all the years up until the moment they'd found themselves in then, and, coming so late to the party, chose to exploit him to his own mad ambitions. Her own mother had come to her, just as Cesare had left for Forli, undone that she had heard the word 'fear' issue forth from her son's lips and then that which had caused it: the Holy Father's mad ambition of primogeniture. Lucrezia did not know much but she knew _that_ would never happen—nor should it. She would never be able to admit that feeling to her brother; the ones that she had were bad enough and had already danced too dangerously close around her truest concern. She would have to bear her fears in silence and not trouble her brother with them again, for he had enough to contend with already.

She rose from the bed then to see to herself; after the lavatory she washed her hands in the cold water of the basin back in the bathing room then lit the hearth; she took a bucket for water and headed to the kitchen.

* * *

Cesare was in the cold kitchen, sitting at the small dining table in the dark, alone with his own thoughts.

He understood well that his sister's concern's were not the selfish rantings of a lovelorn schoolgirl: unrealistic, self-absorbed; dramatically over-blown. Her concern was for him in earnest, even before herself. She was a fine one to speak, indeed, of putting the concerns of others before self, he smiled to himself. Though she had not grown up in court, like her idol Caterina Sforza, who had been raised by a progressive woman to hunt, be instructed in the ways of warfare and fight to defend her people—had not Lucrezia done the same things?

She was a slip of a girl when she left with Giovanni Sforza and she came back a woman—a woman who had escaped him and charmed a king on the road leading home; had saved Juan's sorry life on the field of battle, no less, and Rome from invasion. Back then, when he and Juan still had the occasional brotherly heart-felt conversation, Juan had told him what a vision she was, sailing across the field in her regal blue gown and cape on her magnificent black steed, between his army and the deadly cannons of King Charles to broker a fine act of diplomacy, on the cuff and out of her love for her brother, first and foremost.

Juan...Juan...Juan...

"Argh!" Cesare grunted his frustration out loud as he pounded the table with his fist as he thought of his dead brother—the brother he had killed by his own hand. He wiped a tear angrily from the corner of his eye and then shut them tight as he forced his thoughts back to his sister. Yes, his sister, who had saved Rome again when she used her knowledge to dispel the cantarella from their father's body; the woman who had helped garner good-will between her own mother and her father's mistress and then worked with them, plotting in concert to do something selfless—by calling the consistory to task and obtaining the necessary funds to bring water to the poor children of Rome._ Oh, father, how powerful would you truly be if you'd take even one lesson from our dear Lucrezia,_ he wondered bitterly.

His sister: the woman he loved impossibly, more than any other on God's green earth or ever would. How had they come to be so cursed? And so blessed—for she was his blessing, no matter what laws or the confines of the familial ties that bound them together dictated. She loved _him_ and that fact constantly and simply astounded him every time he was reminded of it; every time she smiled at him; gave him a word of encouragement; expressed her solidarity with him, verbally or by silent gesture—a look in her eyes, the soft touch of her hand upon his—a million small but profound ways that she showed him constantly that she was always there for him in any way that he might have need of her. It was crushing, the weight of their love for one another, but he would never have had it any other way.

A headache was growing and he realized that he was exhausted...and hungry...but he wanted neither sleep nor food. He leaned forward in his chair, put an elbow on the table and a hand to his temple and tried to massage it away. At that moment Lucrezia entered the dark kitchen.

She stopped in the entryway and looked at him, expressionless, and said nothing; he looked up at her and said nothing, as well. She put her bucket down and went to the hearth and lit it; then she got a flask of water, a plate and a loaf of bread and set it, wordlessly, before him; next she retrieved a pear and peeled it, and put it on his plate. She gave him a look then that reminded him of their dear mother when she was at their angriest at them and too hot to speak words—he knew that Lucrezia meant for him to eat, whether he felt like it or not for she could see his need. Cesare took his hand away from his temple and sat up at attention, like a scolded schoolboy. Lucrezia retrieved her water for washing up then went to the entryway and looked at him again—and waited. When Cesare at last picked up the bread, broke off a piece for himself and began to nibble on it she turned and finally left him in peace.

Some time later she came back down, dressed and carrying the carafe of wine he had brought upstairs earlier. She poured out a goblet and set it before him. She was happy to see that he had indeed eaten a goodly portion of his food but made no show of her delight.

"Lucrezia..." he rose from his seat and approached her slowly. Just then there was a knock at the back kitchen door. Cesare's hand went immediately to the hilt of his sword and he withdrew it from the scabbard decisively. "Identify yourself!" he barked angrily at whomever it was who dared to be on the other side.

"It is me, Cesare—Micheletto..."

Lucrezia rushed to the door and opened it hurriedly. "Micheletto! Micheletto!" she took the startled man into her enthusiastic embrace. Micheletto hugged her in return and looked his bewilderment over at Cesare.

"What is this, my Lady?"

"I am so happy to see you..." she managed before she began to cry. Micheletto looked again at Cesare, helplessness registered in his eyes, further confused by Cesare, who stood immobile in his spot on the floor.

"Come, my Lady, sit at the table and tell me what troubles you," he said gently. He looked up at Cesare when she was seated. "Your Excellence."

Cesare only nodded his greeting at him, a frown on his face.

"Are you both alright?" he ventured.

"Oh, Micheletto, please pardon my outburst—I truly am happy to see you, that is all," she said as she began wiping away her tears.

Micheletto could not hide the look on his face that showed that he knew better, but he asked nothing else. He looked back at Cesare. "I have just come from Castel Sant'Angelo, Your Excellence—the Countess is...alone now."

"Ah," Cesare answered him, understanding him to mean that Rufio was dead. "And how did you leave her?"

"Greatly distraught."

"Cesare? What's going on?" Lucrezia spoke to him finally.

"I must go to her, Lucrezia..."

"I can see that," she answered him, noting the look of concern on his still stern face.

"When I return we will talk, sister," he reached an apologetic hand out to her which she accepted with one of her own and a silent nod of recognition. They released each other. "Micheletto..." Cesare put an appreciative hand to his shoulder, "thank you." Cesare nodded his goodbye at them both and left.

"Well, Micheletto—it's to be you and I then—please sit and tell me how you are! Come—can I get you anything?" She made to rise and prepare him some food. Micheletto put his hand to hers and shook his head at her lightly.

"My condolences to you, my Lady—please sit, and tell me that you are well."

"Thank you, dear Micheletto—with time I will be. Now, no more of this 'My Lady' nonsense—you might as well have been born my brother. As a matter of fact, if I could I would ride with you both, fight alongside you, share in your triumphs and victories..."

"Ah, but it is not all triumphs and victories, surely you know this."

"Yes, sadly, I do...still, I would wish to experience it all with you."

"You mean to say that you wish you would have been born a man, my Lady?"

Lucrezia shot him a reprimanding look.

"Lucrezia," he bowed his head and smiled his correction at her.

"Micheletto! A smile from you! Please do not take offense, but I hazard to say that I've never seen one on your face before—it is simply astounding..."

"My Lady...come now..." he began, slightly embarrassed.

"I do not mean to be forward or impolite, but that smile affects me in the most wondrous way—please do it more? At least around me? And it is _Lucrezia._..better yet, _sister._"

"As to your request, I will try to comply, little sister; as to you being born a man, I cannot imagine a world without the generous and loving Lady Lucrezia Borgia in it."

"Ah, but I did not say that I wanted to be born a man—I said I wanted to fight beside you...as a woman...as myself, Micheletto; a warrior—a woman warrior, like the Lady of Imola, the Tigress of Forli..." The admiration in her voice was unmistakable and quite reverent.

Micheletto's thoughts went to the the Countess then, imprisoned; broken, alone—waiting for His Holiness to suffer his visit upon her. "The grass is always greener, little sister—of that you must be mindful."

"That I understand, Micheletto, but surely for a woman there must be some happy medium between salting herself away in the lonely bed of a convent or that of a husband's, which can be just as lonely, or worse, cruel."

Micheletto's heart went out to her for surely she was thinking of Giovanni Sforza. "Some women are blessed to find a husband who truly loves and cherishes her, Lucrezia, and a life of true fulfillment, as well," he took her hand into the comfort of his own.

"Maybe." Her thoughts went to Cesare then and she found that she could say no more about that subject. "However did I catch you up into such conversation, Micheletto? Please pardon me—I find of late that my thoughts are truly all over the place. Where have you been, Micheletto? Cesare and I have missed you so..."

Micheletto stifled a smile, that, had he inflicted it upon Lucrezia, would have sent her into real shock and amazement. "I had personal matters to attend, little sister," he said simply.

"Ah, then say no more, it is not my intent to pry. Really, are you not hungry? Can't I get you something to eat? To drink? Maybe you'd like to rest? Take your pick of a room, Micheletto, and take your comfort?"

"I am fine right where I am, little sister. And I await Cesare's return for he will have orders for me."

"Yes...orders," she said as she slipped a bit into sadness.

"And how are you, really, Lucrezia? When will you return home? I'm sure little Giovanni misses his mama..."

"The end of the week...for Alfonso's requiem mass. And then what awaits me I have absolutely no idea...but I can imagine."

"You mean His Holiness...and his next ambition for you."

"Yes, they are that, are they not? His ambitions. Why does he bother with me at all, Micheletto? I think the Holy Father should husband his infernal alliances himself and just leave me out of it...if I can be married by proxy, well, then shouldn't all the rest of it be by proxy, as well? I'd like to see someone set _that_ precedent—marriage, consummation, and all the rest, by proxy—that would be something to celebrate, indeed...and to see. Why, I'd sit behind a black lace curtain, gladly, munching on marzipan as I watched—better yet, charge admission to the public—that would surely contribute to the Vatican coffers nicely."

Micheletto let out a hearty guffaw.

"Oh, Micheletto! Your smile is divine, but that laugh! I've changed my mind—since riding into battle with two of the men I love most in this world is not possible, I must endeavor to find a way to ensure that I hear your laughter more often."

"Your wit is wicked...and sweet, Lucrezia...I believe that you will meet your goal with great success."

* * *

She heard the lock being undone and feared that he had decided he could wait no longer to inflict his sure humiliation upon her. She was surprised, then, to see the son instead of the father walk through the door. She stood up up from her chair in the corner of the room then, her face puffy and her eyes red from crying tears over Rufio and her predicament.

Cesare said nothing as he closed the door behind him then faced her again.

"Well...say something, Catalan. Or have you come for first pickings at your father's conquest?" she asked through a bold sneer.

"You are a conquest, for sure, Countess; and you are a treasure—but not one destined to be locked away forever—or harmed by my hand. You should know that the term of your prison sentence rests entirely with you. Make something easy on yourself for once: comply with Pope Alexander and you will be free to go on with your life."

"So that you may rule Romagna in my stead. Oh, the bonds between powerful fathers and their sons, and the destruction that is wrought upon the world because of them," she snorted her disgust at him.

"To be fair, we did seek from you a more peaceful solution to this problem..." he began firmly.

"Yes, of course—the problem of a woman in control of her own existence—spare me your contrived and delusional justifications, Cesare Borgia, there has been nothing at all fair in this enterprise and the charges against me are trumped-up, as you well know..."

Cesare was unable to stifle an incredulous little laugh. "That you can say that with a face so straight—acting of the finest caliber, my Lady; it seems to me that a lucrative career on the stage awaits you upon your release." His laughter only raised her ire more.

"I certainly signed no documents renouncing my fiefdoms—your forthcoming duchy is ill-gotten and you know that, as well. Fair? No, there was nothing fair in this at all," she said through her tightly clenched jaws.

"We could argue forever, Countess, but we will spare ourselves this pointless quarrel. There was a battle; there was one who lost it and one who won—it could have gone either way."

"Ha!" She was beyond insulted then. "The cards were stacked against me and we all know it: the Sons of Rome; a Borgia Pope—a Borgia son; and the most important player of all that sealed my fate for certain defeat..." Caterina lifted her skirt slowly.

"Caterina, stop this..." Cesare said as he took pity on her and reached out to still her hand. The look on his face was salt in her wounded soul.

"I do not want your pity!" she railed at him. Cesare went to her and took the tormented woman into his arms and held her as she sobbed into his chest. She looked up at him and he was sure that he saw a flash of surprised appreciation in her eyes.

"You are a great lady, Caterina; you will survive this," he spoke his words with love and tenderness.

"And you? How will you survive?" she asked him quietly then, a concerned look on her face. "After the Pope draws his last breath, Cesare Borgia, how many battles will you win then?" she asked, with ice in her heart and daggers shooting at him from her eyes.

Cesare gave an exasperated grunt as he pushed her violently away from himself in outrage, for she had found the sorest spot within him and hit her mark with expert and deliberate dispatch.

"What are you, in league with my sister?" Cesare muttered disgustedly under his breath as he rolled his eyes hard in his head.

"What was that, Your Excellence? Do speak up, please, for I would not miss any part of the answer to that question."

"Thank you, Countess, for your kind well-wishes," he began, his voice tight and clipped, "but I do not need my father's favor to excel in this world."

"You _are_ delusional, Cesare Borgia," she said incredulously as she backed away from him, "and proud—pride goeth before the fall, you know," she smirked at him.

"Spoken from one with experience, I know that," he shot back at her.

Caterina smarted inwardly at his rebuke but gave no hint of it outwardly. "Was it pride that made me defend my lands? I think not."

"And I think so, Countess: pride, over being a woman in control of a man's domain..." he began hotly.

Caterina turned her back to him and headed away from her corner, searching the room for something to bash his head with; Cesare rushed her, and violently took her in hand back to face him.

"Yes, pride, that kept you from marriage so that control would not be usurped; pride, that kept you from a simple request to yield—peacefully—to His Holiness, the Pope of Rome..." he grunted at her.

She wrested herself free of his angry hold upon her. "No..." she hissed her denial at him; she tried to back further away from his reach but Cesare frustrated her goal by bird-dogging her every step.

"Yes..." he continued menacingly as he advanced ever closer to her, "pride, that sent you to the top of a tower to hang yourself—a legendary death—I think you called it?" he grunted at her, nostrils flaring. "Pride—and the fact that you go against the natural order of things, my Lady...and now, here we are." Cesare stopped then, with only mere inches between them.

"As _you_ go against the natural order of things, _Spaniard_. You have the favor of the Sons of Rome now, Catalan, their grudging favor; they will turn on you one day, as surely as they turned on me—it is only a matter time."

Caterina was surprised to see a change come over him as the menace on his face gave way to something else entirely; she could not name exactly what it was but the grimace on his face had disappeared and a calmness seemed to wash over him. Cesare breached the divide between them then, his approach as intimate as a lover; the gleam in his eyes directed at her was so full of passion that it literally took Caterina's breath away and a little gasp escaped her; he leaned dangerously closer in to her, then took her neck into the strong grip of one hand and pulled her face roughly and closer to his own; he looked intently into her eyes and a kiss seemed imminent, but he cut his eyes away from her and the menace which had been on his face manifested itself then in the whisper against her ear. "Your concern for me is touching, my Lady...but I know well how to root out those who would betray me...and dispatch with them accordingly." He drew slowly away from her, her throat still held hostage in his firm grip, the promise of his words burning into her eyes from his own.

Caterina leaned back into him then, their bodies only a hair's breadth apart, their lips even closer. "An endeavor that requires most persistent application, to be sure, Your Excellence...good luck with that..." Her sarcasm came at him softly, through a wicked little smile upon her lips.

The gleam in Cesare's eyes turned murderous then, as well as his grip, which became tighter upon her lovely, fragile neck; Caterina could feel, and see, the intensity of his inward struggle; the war of desires that would have him either unloose her throat or let his other hand, which had already risen and was poised to join its partner, assist it in choking the very life out of her.

"ARGH!" came his explosive grunt at her, his eyes shut tightly, his whole body shaking with rage.

Caterina was sure she was about to draw her last breath when his other hand finally wrapped itself about her throat and resigned herself to her fate; she wanted death, preferred it surely over that which lay in store for her at the hands of his abominable Unholy Father; she closed her own eyes in relief. She was surprised then to feel his grip loosen as he rested his forehead tormentedly upon her own. She dared to look upon him and saw through the silent contortions being exercised upon his handsome face that he wanted to speak words, but was completely unable to form any, and for reasons she would never understand her heart went out to him.

"Cesare..." she dared to murmur his name, "what is this? How is this? That you manage to confound _me_?" He opened his eyes then and looked into hers and in them she saw apology; a deeper regard for her than she thought possible of him; and the determination of his spirit to see his destiny through to its end.

He gave her neck a rough little shake and his smile at her was a sad one. "I...often confound myself, dear Caterina..." he said at last. He pulled away from her then. "You have minutes only to decide what you will do with this," he said gruffly as he went to the door and opened it; facing it still he turned his head slightly and spoke over his shoulder at her. "Your man is dead, as you well know; you have the cover of darkness and a half hour before the guard comes next to check this lock—which will be locked—and your escape not evident until your breakfast is delivered in the morning. Should you decide to walk through this door know this: whichever way it may go I will disavow any knowledge of your escape and deny any claim of assistance, upon pain of death—by my sword run through your heart, should you dare to betray me—do you understand what I am saying, Countess?"

Caterina was almost too shocked to speak.

"Countess—an answer!" he barked at her. Caterina's feet moved her with a will of their own as she lumbered toward him, feeling as Lazarus surely must have when Jesus called him forth from the cave.

"Yes, Your Excellence; either way this may go I shall never betray you..." she said in a daze. She heard the crisp snap of Cesare's cloak as he threw his arm out to receive her.

"Make haste, my Lady..." his tone was kinder then.

Once they were outside of the apartment Cesare re-bolted the door and then led Caterina to a secret passage, which led down and out of the castle to the Elian Bridge, where his horse and another were waiting for them. He rode with her just beyond the first copse of trees far beyond the city walls and stopped.

"The only way I shall ever move forward upon Romagna is if you do not—you make it back to Forli, Countess, and I shall renounce all claims upon it..."

"Your father, Cesare—he will never..."

"You leave His Holiness to me," he looked away from her and off into the distance, "...there are plenty of other castle walls I may yet knock down, my Lady."

"Cesare Borgia—" In her voice was the command for him to look upon her, which he did.

"Yes, Countess?"

"I cannot begin to tell you..."

Cesare nodded a silent reprimand at her through closed eyes and a bite upon his bottom lip; when he looked at her again his only response was to give a smack to the rump of her horse which sent it like a shot away from him and from Rome.

"Godspeed and success to you, Caterina Sforza..." he said quietly to himself as he watched her disappear from sight, "and change my destiny if you will."


	8. My Brother, Myself

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 8 My Brother, Myself

* * *

When Cesare returned to Orsini Palace dawn was breaking; he came through the back door in the kitchen half-way expecting to find Lucrezia and Micheletto still at the dining table waiting for him; instead the old cook and his apprentice were hard at work preparing a hot breakfast and both of them jumped as he came bounding through the door.

"Your Excellence, will you have a hot meal this morning?" the old man dared to ask him.

"Uh...I will not but I shall see to my sister and find out if she is well enough to dine...excuse me..."

"Yes, Your Excellence."

Cesare went to the stairs and looked up with great longing; his heart had already abandoned him and gone before him to find his sister, but his feet refused to follow. He went instead to the great room and found Micheletto, asleep on a divan that he had pulled closer to the hearth, where embers were burning their regretful adieu. He went quietly then to chair in the seating area of the far corner of the room and settled himself delicately as he leaned back into his own exhaustion; as tired as he was he found that sleep had no use for him. He reflected, then, on all of the events of the past three days of his life before his thoughts settled on the image of Caterina Sforza, racing away from him into the early morning of their shared yet unknown destinies.

"Ah, but you do look a fright..." came his slick, smug voice. Cesare, startled quite effectively by the interruption of his thoughts, looked up and gasped when he saw the one before him. "What is it, Cesare? Do...tell..." the one said to him as he walked out of the shadows slowly and deliberately, his gait as cocky as the tone of his voice.

"Juan?"

"Well, who else?" He took a seat opposite from his brother. "What is it?" he said as he made a great show of smoothing out his rumpled, bloody clothes before looking back at Cesare. "It must be something good to draw me out of _my_ slumber," he threw his head back and gave a silent laugh at his own joke.

"There is nothing amusing, here, Juan, least of all you," Cesare said sourly.

"Really, brother? I'm dead and you're the one with the attitude? What a wonder you are, indeed," he sniffed his insult at him.

"Quiet yourself..." Cesare nodded his head angrily in the direction of his sleeping friend.

"What? Him? Please—he's sleeps the happy slumber of a killer with fresh blood on his hands; he's less present than I am, brother," Juan assured him. "So—what have you done? Out with it, already, for I find this reversal of our roles rather pleasing—father might have been surprised at what might have happened had he put me in cardinal's robes instead of you." Cesare shot his brother foul look, but Juan, unfazed, smiled back at him. "Come now, brother—confess your sins to me..." his tone was hypnotic and kind enough that Cesare's hard gaze softened then gave way to his visible shame; he leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hand together and shut his eyes tightly closed as he struggled to get out his next words.

"What I have done...what I am feeling—I can never give voice to the thoughts in my head to another living soul."

"Then you'd better talk to me, brother."

"All hell should be breaking loose at the Vatican right about now—Caterina Sforza has escaped." He looked upon his brother then.

Juan cocked his head at his brother in reprimand.

"Yes, I set her free," Cesare confessed under Juan's knowing glare.

"And why...did you do that?" Juan asked him with a sneer on his face and a voice full of pure disgust.

"I find it hard to express except to say that I would have a sign at this point in my life," Cesare defended himself.

"A sign? Of what, Cesare?"

"That I am following my true course. All of my life I have abided our father's will; a son he wanted in the church and to the church I went even though my own ambitions would have had me far removed from the scarlet and the purple; I married, to fortify his stronghold even though it pits me actually against Lucrezia and Gioffre; I wait now to take the Papal Army—but what becomes of this short career when he is no more? Winning the favor of a Pope is difficult at best when you are not the fruit of his loins-and sometimes, even when you are," Cesare said with a twisted smile upon his lips. He hated confessing his fears to his brother but found it cathartic and let out a heavy sigh of relief in spite of himself.

"What you did, brother, was let a _woman_ get inside of your head and plant doubts within you—you let her _poison_ you with all this talk of love and self and freedom and now you're about destroy it all, ruin yourself. Go ahead—I knew you had it in you to be me—go ahead and fail our father—it is no surprise to me that you could do it so magnificently. You and Lucrezia deserve each other."

"You! You always hated Lucrezia! Why? What did she ever do to you? I would know the answer to that question of you if I never learn any other, Juan..." Cesare whispered his torment at his brother through gritted teeth.

"If you have the nerve to ask that, brother, then you should go on to your grave in ignorance," Juan replied viciously.

"Why, Juan? Tell me!"

"I loved you, brother! I loved you!" Juan's words issued forth with a finger pointed at Cesare in accusation. "But you always had your head so far up Lucrezia's arse you could see nothing else; where was your brotherly love for me? Tell me! No, all you ever had for me was your jealousy; your criticism; your scorn—when all the time you were coveting my affections from our father...my position. You learned so much at Pisa? Wonderful. Did you share any of that knowledge with me? Cesare Borgia, soldier extraordinaire..." he hissed at his brother. "You might have given me some useful criticism on the floor instead of your derision and constant endeavor to embarrass me in front of my men every chance you got."

"Is that how you saw it, brother? You instigated the lot of our very public skirmishes and you know it. If you had so little confidence in your abilities as Gonfalonier you should have gone to our father and demanded remedy for it. The worst he could ever have done was to say no—and I know well what that sounds like coming from our father's lips, brother, but I never let it deter me from the asking."

"And you would have liked that, would you not? To see me shame myself further in front of him?"

"You see, that I never understood; for one who had his unconditional love—you should have been able to ask of him anything, Juan—and without any shame, at all.

"I didn't want what you had because you had it—I wanted it for myself, independently of you. I was not in competition with you, Juan, not for you appointment as Gonfalonier or for the affections of our father—I would have happily fought beside you, but _he_ denied me that—he denied us both that. He has always had the talent for pitting his children against one another even as he claimed his love for us all. And he does...love us, in his way...but it has not come easy or without great cost. I regret that for us both."

"Lovely," Juan gave weak applause at him. "All so much water under a Tiber bridge. The issue at hand now is your ruination. So...you let the bitch go—what now, Cesare? You've had a short career but so far quite glorious, even I can admit that. If the Lady gets back to her castle and fortifies her forces what is the point to all that you have accomplished thus far? You have success now; your methods are necessarily ruthless but your governance has always been favored by the people over their treatment by the local anarchy..."

"Let her have her lands—I'll disband the Swiss Infantry..."

"If she makes it back to Forli and you disband the Swiss Infantry none of the rest of that sorry lot would stand a chance against her...it would all be ended..."

"What does any of it matter? I spend as much time watching my own back as I do fighting my enemies before me—Colonna and Orsini are worse than children in their play pen, ever at odds with one another, plotting against each other even as they fight together...and against me, as well."

"Then you deal with them, you and your man, there..." Juan pointed over at the sleeping assassin. "Put them out of your misery, Cesare...father would be ended if you abandon your campaign now."

"Yes, he would be." The two men stared each other down.

"Where would you go then, Cesare?" Juan asked him finally. "Father would be ousted, you would be a disgrace and prison would await; what of your wife and child? Our dear mother? Gioffre? _Saint Lucrezia_? I mean really, I would be clear about this."

"And by 'clear' you mean to know if this is truly something I endeavor for myself..."

"Of course."

"I'm clear about this: my child I've not even held in my arms; my wife would not miss me–they would both be safer without me..."

"I don't think that's quite true, Cesare...and Gioffre?"

"All Gioffre needs is a bigger prick—and a more loyal wife to tend to it—and you would know something about that, would you not, brother?" Cesare gave a smirk at Juan.

Juan ignored his brother's insult and replied only with three words. "Mother and Lucrezia..."

Cesare sobered. "I would help them to escape..."

"To where, Cesare?"

"Exile..."

"Not the wisest course..."

"The New World, then..."

"Even less wise than exile. And you think that you've thought this all through, have you?"

"I can make no such claim, Juan," he admitted honestly.

"I hazard to say that is an understatement brother. This is all folly, pure and simple—coming to sure fruition, no less. And the New World? That is a good one, Cesare; even if you dared, you would be as happy walking the earth unknown and out of your element as I would be able come back to walk the earth at all. Stop deluding yourself, brother. If you're as tired of it all as you think you are, well, I've a nice soft spot for you, right next to me...I could even make enough room to accommodate our dear sister. Or she could just lie atop your body for eternity—that should make you both so very happy. Otherwise, release your man there to go after the Sforza bitch and kill her, once and for all."

"I...will not do that."

"Then you are a bigger fool than I ever was—and more dangerous."

"Juan, do not taunt me so viciously. I am talking to you plainly, now, as a man who has fears—am I not allowed to feel fear? Apprehension? I am looking into the most horrible truths of my life and my way does not seem as clear as it used to be—I would have a sign, brother, to set me back upon my proper course then make the needed readjustments accordingly. Whichever way it goes I will know, unshakably, that what I wish to attain is truly for me and me alone, however difficult it may prove for me to actually be able to attain it..."

"Hmm...the Great and Horrible Cesare Borgia, admitting to being a mere man. Well, that was certainly worth coming back for," Juan harrumphed.

"If only you had been able to do the same thing, Juan Borgia, you might still be here," Cesare leveled at his brother through a steely glare.

"Well, that's neither here nor there now, is it brother? I'm sorry it's so hard to hurt the feelings of a dead man, but it truly is one of the better perks—you'll find out one day. So...you have your less than well-thought out plan to look to, in case the Papal shackles that continue to bind you to our father should dare to become unloosed—bravo to you," Juan began with mock admiration, "and you do what if your Saviour falls short of that goal? Just to be clear..."

"Then I take Romagna as planned but I put my faith no more in the hands of fickle Pope's—even my father's; I make haste to find protection for my sister in the guise of a loving and suitable husband; I make a journey to see my wife and gaze upon the face of my baby daughter and I would do it quickly; I abandon his mad dream of primogeniture; I find my success in a manner that would better ensure it."

"Father is well, Cesare; he is robust, still, and in command as ever of all that he surveys."

"That may be, but when I walk into the Vatican I feel murderous eyes upon us both..."

"Really, Cesare, is that a new development? Murderous eyes were always upon us..."

"I fear for him Juan, as well as myself."

"Ah, fear again...so boring, that..." Juan yawned at his brother accordingly.

"Maybe to you."

"So...what happens, brother, either way, when your beloved Lucrezia finds out that, before her pet of a husband's unfortunate accident, you had planned to have him murdered. Do you fear that?" Juan's concern was clearly mocking.

"She will never be troubled by that revelation—the only other who knew of anything of that is dead," he raged at his brother then.

"Ah, but brother, everything in the dark eventually comes to the light, does it not? Look at me..."

"I'm looking at you—and you are but a figment of my over-wrought imagination, a product of my exhaustion—my guilty conscience," Cesare admitted.

"And you have so much to feel guilty for, brother...I'm glad that you know it."

"I'm tired of talking to you now...sleep...I need sleep, that is all...and you will go away," Cesare scowled at Juan then and waved him dismissively away as he put a hand to his throbbing temple.

"Are you sure, brother?" Juan gave a contemplative tilt of his head, scratching at the bloody shirt upon his chest where Cesare's blade struck him first that fateful night on the Elian Bridge. "That last bath in the Tiber...something got in here, I think—very definite and quite real, brother..." he took Cesare's hand and placed it over his heart, "...itches like the devil, especially when I think of you—and I think of you often...terrible way to spend eternity, trying to find my ease with this..." Juan pulled Cesare close and the brothers locked their eyes heatedly upon each other; Cesare yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned.

"Ah, nothing to say to that one, eh brother? Cesare?"

"Cesare...Cesare..."

Cesare woke to find Micheletto rousing him gently; with great concern reflected on his face and under his furrowed brows he spoke in a hushed yet urgent tone.

"Wake up, Cesare, you are in the throes of bad dream..."

"Micheletto..." Cesare was groggy and disconcerted;he had a horrible crook in his neck that his hand went to immediately.

"My Lord...I...heard you calling out the name of your brother...Juan..." Micheletto said uneasily.

"Did the bastard answer back?" Cesare asked through a disgusted half-smile. Micheletto said nothing. "I need proper sleep is all..."

"My Lord, I've had word from the Vatican; not even a half hour ago a soldier rode here to report that Caterina Sforza has escaped her confines within Castel Sant'Angelo..." Micheletto waited for orders he knew were not forthcoming. "I see, then."

"Do not judge me, Micheletto," Cesare bristled immediately.

"After everything that has transpired between us? I am not even capable of that," he responded simply.

"Yes, I set her free and this is a thing between you and I, Micheletto, no one else..."

"You know better than to even say it. But...tell me why?" The look on his face was made up of pure shock.

"I told you not to judge me..."

"I am not judging—I'm trying to—to understand..." Micheletto said quietly.

"Let us just say that, of late, my peace of mind has been like so much sand on a beach, eroding with every lap of the waves against the shore, soon to disappear as if it had never been. The outcome of the Lady's escape will help me restore it, Micheletto, and will answer some very definite questions for me and set my destiny clear."

Micheletto cocked his head at his master, but said nothing further.

"Was there any other news?"

"No." Micheletto looked long and hard at Cesare before he spoke again. "You carry the all of the burdens of a good and dutiful son, Cesare, but you must find a way to take your ease."

"I am neither of those things, Micheletto, but as ever, I appreciate your faith in me," Cesare said then.

"Then rest your faith in me now...I will ride to Forli..."

"No Micheletto! I will not have you lift a hand in this!" Cesare took violent hold of Micheletto's arm then.

"That is not my intent—I go only to watch—and report—to let you know if the Countess achieves her goal or not, that is all."

"Promise me."

"Upon my life, Cesare."

Cesare loosened his grip upon his arm and nodded at his friend.

"It is less than day's ride—we shall know either way and soon—to your bed, Cesare—we should know something before mass on Friday, I am sure of it. Stay here and do not venture out again until you have heard from me. You promise me..." Micheletto demanded then.

"You have my promise, brother."

Micheletto gave a bow of his head at Cesare. "Then I am off, Cesare Borgia, to see how your destiny may play out."

With that Micheletto left him and Cesare went, finally, to his Lucrezia.


	9. Unquenchable

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 9 Unquenchable

* * *

He entered their suite quietly and found the hearth long dead and the room cold; he gazed upon the bed and saw that her body, buried under a sumptuous coverlet of gold and maroon brocade, was hidden from him, her golden locks splayed upon her pillow the only evidence that she was there at all. He went to the entryway between the anteroom and bedroom and leaned his weary bones against it as he undressed.

She stirred slowly and turned over to face the direction where she heard the sound of buttons popping as he ripped off his doublet; she raised up slightly and her sleepy eyes met his and noted the scowl upon his face as he watched her watching him continue to undress.

He tore his shirt angrily away from himself and, upon his freedom from it, threw it violently upon the floor; he worked on his pants next and when he was finally naked he leaned back against the entryway, crossed his arms about his bare chest, and continued to stare at her.

Lucrezia was unsettled under Cesare's stony glare and was reminded of the morning after her wedding, when she had met the same look in his his eyes as he stood next to their ecstatic father; she hadn't been able to read him then and found herself again in the same uneasy predicament. What had happened, she wondered, between the time he'd left her the night before to that moment? What was responsible for causing that look upon his face at her? She wanted to ask but found that her tongue was frozen and unwilling to comply with her weak desire to actually do so.

Cesare could see the hurt in her eyes and he was indeed, angry, but not angry at her. He was greatly affected by the venomous words of his brother that had assaulted him in his dreams; and though the conversation had felt so very real, he was angriest most at himself for hiding his doubts behind her—and within himself—in the guise of his conscience parading as a dead man in a nightmare. Secrets he hated to keep from her, and there were a host of them already, but he could never reveal the cause of his truest angst or his shame to her; he was simply trying, at that point, to speak no words at all, rather than utter even the hint of a wrong one.

She wondered what he was waiting for and why he had bothered to come back to their suite at all; there were plenty of other rooms for him to take his rest if he was so angry at her and had she been able to get her tongue to work properly she would have told him to do just that. Was he going to stand naked in the cold morning glaring at her forever? Was he going to open his mouth and at least give her a parting word?

They continued to stare each other down; she was surprised to find that her eyes were devoid of tears even though her throat choked-up and made her breathing labored; still his eyes were locked onto hers and still she found him impossible to read. She shut her eyes tightly closed, unable to hold contest any longer; when she finally opened them again she found no change in him. Lucrezia resigned herself then to their silence but would not look upon that face another moment longer; she turned over and away from him and pulled the cover tightly about her fearing that she had felt the last of his loving touch, sure that she would never know it again; it had come, at last, she realized—the moment of her final heartbreak; she waited to hear him do the thing she had always dreaded most—walk away from her and never return.

Suddenly he was upon the bed beside her.

"What, sis? Are you wishing me away? Praying to God for deliverance and relief from me?" he asked her menacingly as he took her violently in hand and turned her over to face him. "You would turn away? From me?" Lucrezia struggled to try and sit up but Cesare kept her easily pinned down at his mercy, with a scolding look in his eyes at her. "You will answer me..." his tone was a threat that incensed more than frightened her.

"I would turn away from your anger, brother—let me go..." she demanded.

"I'm not angry at you..."

"I find those words difficult to believe, considering your vicious hold upon me..."

"Lucrezia..."

"Are you done with me now? I realize that I was wrong to say what I did last night, Cesare—you are a soldier born; your will is your own, of that I have no doubt and I should never have spoken otherwise. But if it is your intent to leave me then just do it and be done—and start now!" she railed at him as she struggled anew to free herself from his strong grip.

Cesare gave her violent shake to still her then put his forehead to hers and looked deeply into her eyes. "Stop your struggling, sis, it only arouses me more..." His words and the tone of them, combined with the look in his eyes were all dangerous enough to cause Lucrezia to let out a shocked little gasp and comply.

"But I thought..."

"Ah...you require more discussion on the matter, I see..." he said as he closed his eyes and gave a little shake of his head against hers. "Very well...you shall have it..." He looked upon her again as he broke away from her, then very resolutely pulled her up from beneath him; he got off of the bed and guided her to sit upon her knees as he stood behind her. Lucrezia was unnerved by his manner and although he still seemed angry at her she was more than pliant in his hands. He pulled her up before him then grabbed her hair gently to bare her neck; he bent it then, just a little too savagely to her liking, to the side. "This is going to be quite the one-sided conversation to begin with..." Cesare took his other hand and started a caress on her outer-thigh that slowly made its way to the inner, "but jump in any time you find yourself ready sis," he admonished her brusquely before he kissed her neck and simultaneously possessed the warm, waiting wetness between her legs and gave it a loving massage.

Up to that point all of their intimate moments, though filled with great passion, had been sweet and subdued: their stolen kisses and lingering hugs had been stifled for fear of discovery; their most daring interlude on her wedding night to Alfonso had been joyous yet also reverent; and so too had their lovemaking been over those three days, even locked away from prying eyes in blessed privacy. Lucrezia had not imagined that there could more ecstasy involved in the realization of their physical desires, so happy she had been that they'd been able to express them fully, at all. She had learned much from her experienced teacher and had enjoyed every lesson, many of which had been salaciously playful. But his manner at that moment was new to her as were the wicked sensations coursing through her body; his rough words and rougher handling both appalled and excited her to the point of feeling a new ecstasy, feverish and almost unquenchable and she wanted more of it.

"I feel a question forming, sister..." he grunted at her; he heard her orgasmic little sighs erupting from her lips and felt her body become even more alive under his brutal attention.

"Cesare..." she moaned at him in a swoon.

"See what happens when you turn your back to me, sis?" He put his hand at the small of her back and pushed her roughly over on all fours. "You wanted to know if I was done with you..." Cesare murmured as he took her perfect ass cheeks, one in each hand, and kneaded them expertly, greatly enjoying the view of the river that raged further beneath her; he was hard enough that he did not need his hands to assist him in answering her question. His first stroke was hard and punishing. "Do I feel like I'm done with you, sis?" he asked her even as every powerful thrust into her confirmed that he was not.

Lucrezia felt like she would die if he did not stop filling her up with so much pleasure but was unable to get the words out to tell him as much. She felt Cesare take hold of her slim hips and begin to work her to his will, but slowly, and found it to be a welcomed respite from his previous assault of love. She settled into his sweeter rhythm and soon matched it well enough that he took his hands away and left it all to her. And then suddenly the punishment began again. Lucrezia shot up and put her arms about his neck to brace herself further; she managed to calm him enough to turn her face to his and kiss him.

"I love you, Cesare," she gasped as she rode him out.

"And I, you..." he groaned at her, never missing a beat, his hands cupped at her breasts.

"I could die this way, Cesare...is that possible—to die of pleasure such as this?" she moaned at him then.

"Unfortunately, no..." he whispered into her hair.

"If I were to let go of you now my limbs would give out..."

"Then do not let go..."

"Cesare...oh..." Lucrezia found herself overtaken by him under another orgasmic wave. "I don't think I can take any more, brother..."

"I assure that you can and I promise that you will..." he murmured softly at her, "now hush, dear sister—I'm not done with you..."


	10. The Sign

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 10 The Sign

* * *

"What were we arguing about?"

"I do not remember."

Cesare and Lucrezia lay in bed spent and happy, each facing the other with devilish smiles of pure, irrepressible delight.

"Shall we solve all of our disputes this way?"

Cesare took one of her hands and gave her forefinger a playful bite. "Will there be more?"

"There is always the possibility that there could be, brother."

"Then I think that would be wise."

"The things we have done together over this past week..." she began tentatively, "I shall never do with another man, Cesare."

"I don't expect that of you, sis...and you will change that feeling should you dare to meet a man special enough." Cesare's smile faded as he cast his gaze downward.

"You know that is not possible, my love, to meet a man more special than you are to me."

"It is also not impossible—I would...desire that for you, Lucrezia...for there to be a man like that, present in your life," he said cautiously, "to give you all of the love that you deserve."

Lucrezia lifted his chin and kissed it, then sought his eyes out with her own.

"I would like to believe that you mean that, but you cannot even look me in the eyes when you say it, Cesare. I would have that man be you. If he cannot be then whomever I may be next forced to marry will have my affection—if he is kind to me; will have my respect—if he treats me as one who possesses a brain and realizes that my sex does not make me an inferior being; he will have my body—because the laws of marriage dictate it; his children, I could love easily; but my whole heart will forever belong to you, you must know that. Whether I am betrothed next to an honorable man or a brute, the moments we have shared here can never be touched—or duplicated—by him or any other and they will last me for the rest of my life. I know that you will have other women beside me and your wife, I understand that a man has his needs; I'm sure that I will have mine—I am a Borgia, too..." she tweaked his nose playfully.

"Relief, dear brother...it would be relief only, for me; for the need that every body requires to be addressed...bread and water to sate me when I would lose myself instead in the exquisite delights of a banquet feast. That is what you are, my love, it is simply a fact. I know your heart wishes me happiness, but please stop trying to convince me that I will find it truly in the person of any man who is not you. And I will be arrogant enough to do the same regarding your women."

"It is not arrogance, my love..." he assured her with a tender kiss to the top of her breast.

"Ah..." she moaned as she clutched his hair at the nape of his neck, "if you keep that up we shall never get out of this bed today..."

"Who wants to?" he murmured before he took her nipple into his mouth and suckled it.

* * *

The rest of that day and evening Cesare and Lucrezia left their bed only long enough to take nourishment in the kitchen, wrapped only in sheets as they sat across from each other at the dining table awash in soft, dancing candlelight.

"I don't know what it is about this place, Cesare, but Juan haunts me here, in my dreams..."

Cesare almost dropped his goblet of wine at her words, but recovered quickly. "Really, sis? How so?"

"Well, for the past three nights or so he has been in my dreams; he is always a child, Gioffre's age, and much attached to me, as if he were my own son."

"And you? Are you a child, as well?"

"No, I am this age. As a matter of fact, both he and Gioffre are as my sons."

"Am I there?"

"Well, yes and no; neither you or mother or father are there, but Gioffre is at once himself in body but you, also."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's so strange. And the two of you are so sweet together, playing at swords or sitting at my lap to hear stories. It's all been so very sweet, these dreams. I wake up wishing he had retained that part of himself as a grown man and find that I miss him." There was a sweet smile upon her face a she played at the stew in her bowl that she had warmed up for them.

"You miss the best part of him. It is nice to be missed," Cesare managed.

"Why do they hate us so, Cesare?" she asked him then, the wistful smile at the remembrance of their brother gone from her face. "All of the cardinals have children, other Pope's before father, as well; simony is not a thing our father invented nor is he the only one who was ever accused of it; they all seek to cushion their personal bank accounts with funds from the Vatican coffers, and have done it—look at what mother, Giulia and I went through trying to get water for the poor children! Roman children! Why do we suffer so much scorn from all of Rome? Felice della Rovere is just as illegitimate as we are, yet she moves with ease and finds herself wide berth in all of the aristocratic houses of Rome—what are we so guilty of?"

"Felice della Rovere is Roman; her father is not Pope; he has the good sense to distance himself from her—but her freedoms and acceptance in the Holy City do not come without price, Lucrezia—he is cold and calculating—and a huge hypocrite—her father. And his coldness actually ensures her success. Especially in the event that he achieves that which he wants most—to see our father dead and gone from the Papal throne, himself seated in it in his stead.

"More than that, father does not burn Jews and Moors at the stake. So they say our Spanish blood is further polluted...and call us Jews and Moors; monkeys; and say that we are not fit to rule Rome and good Romans. And that is the real and only difference between our father and the Pope's who have ruled before him and the Cardinals who sharpen their knives and dream of stabbing him in his back every second of every day," Cesare told her bitterly.

"I have upset you, and I'm sorry for that, brother..."

"Then make me feel better, my love, and come kiss me...for there is nothing on this plate that will satisfy the hunger that gnaws at me now more than you..."

* * *

The next morning they indulged in a proper and languid bath together and by afternoon had taken to their horses for fresh air and a ride about the grounds. Upon their return Cesare saw someone riding toward them and knew that it was Micheletto.

"Lucrezia, Micheletto approaches—would you mind going ahead and have the cook prepare a hot plate for us all?"

"No, my love, gladly..." she rode away from him with a smile on her face and wave to Micheletto as he drew closer.

"Your Excellence..." he said when their horses were beside each other.

"You have news." Cesare braced himself.

"She was captured last night, Cesare...she escaped the soldiers in the woods by seeking refuge with her brother-in-law, Lorenzo de Medici—he has a legal dispute with her over the custody of her son, Giovanni—he turned her in. She is back at Castel Sant'Angelo under heavy guard."

Cesare looked away from Micheletto and off into the distance for long while before he spoke.

"Thank you, brother," he put a hand to Micheletto's shoulder, " Lucrezia awaits you in the kitchen with a hot meal and a kiss—go ahead, please—I'll be along shortly."

Micheletto only gave a silent nod and then hastened away to leave Cesare alone with his thoughts.


	11. His Last Free Sunset

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 11 His Last Free Sunset

* * *

When Cesare entered the kitchen he found Lucrezia and Micheletto at the dining table enjoying a hot meal together and engaged in easy conversation.

"Cesare—what took you so long, brother? Come, have some supper..." Lucrezia rose from her seat to prepare him a plate.

"No, thank you, sis, sit back down. I have no appetite at the moment," he said as he joined them at the table. Lucrezia settled back into her own seat but with a worried look upon her face.

"Micheletto tells me that mother and Giovanni are situated in our apartment at Castel Sant'Angelo and awaiting our return," she brightened up a bit.

"Yes, I'm sure that you're eager to smother your precious little one with a thousand kisses," he smiled at his sister.

"To start, yes," she smiled back at him.

"We really could take our leave tonight then, Lucrezia, don't you think?" he asked her then.

Lucrezia was torn between her desire to spend another night alone with him and the practicality of being back at the Vatican, reunited with her baby and also able to properly prepare for Alfonso's requiem mass without the added inconvenience of same-day travel.

"Just say yes, sister, for I know where your heart truly lies," he prodded her gently.

"Yes, that you do," she said soberly. "Excuse me then, I must go and get my few belongings packed for the trip home." She rose from her seat, gave Micheletto a warm kiss to his cheek and then left them.

"Is she truly alright, Your Excellence?" Micheletto asked him when she was gone.

"She will be...in time."

"So...you are ready to—" he began hesitantly.

"I am ready," Cesare cut him off. "The Bishop of Triani truly requires assistance, Micheletto; as my trusted lieutenant I really do need you to return to Forli..."

"I can go tonight, after I escort you and Lucrezia home, Your Excellence..."

"No, Micheletto, get yourself a good night of sleep after we return to the Vatican and travel in the morning; it may be another week, less if I can manage it, before I'm able to return to my campaign, and I need you there until I do, that is all. And make time to see your dear mother before I return, and give her a warm hug from me."

Micheletto bowed his head. "I will do that, Cesare. What time do you wish to depart tonight?"

"I think I would like to enjoy a last sunset here before we go; as long as we get in before midnight, I would say—the mass is to be at ten in the morning, plenty of time to attend to certain business at hand with my father and get some sleep as well."

"Very good, then. You go and have your sunset—I shall have a little nap in the great room and then have the carriages ready by ten, yes?"

"Yes. Rest well, brother."

Micheletto gave a bow and took his leave. The old cook came into the kitchen then.

"May I be of service, Your Excellence?"

"No, thank you. You'll be rid of us tonight, soon to be reunited with your master again. To your quarters when you're done here, and thank you again for your kind service. A little something for you and the boy—for your trouble." Cesare handed the man two heavy velvet pouches holding two hundred ducats each.

"Thank you, Your Excellence! Thank you!" the man said with wide, appreciative, unbelieving eyes as he bowed and backed away. Cesare left him and headed for his sister.

He went first to their suite but did not find her there; he dared then to go to the one she had shared with her husband and found her standing in the doorway, looking at the stripped bed and the bloodstains still upon the mattress.

"Sis?" he approached her slowly, his concern for her evident in his voice, "Sis? Lucrezia..." He reached for her and without turning to look at him her hand met his then wrapped his arm about herself.

"They should have burned that..." she said softly. "But they left it—as an accusation against me..."

"No, sister...no..." he hugged her tightly to him.

If Cesare had known that it was still there he would have had it burned before she ever dared set her eyes upon it again; but when he took her out of that room on that night everything about it had ceased to exist for him; the only thing that had mattered that night was to get her out of there and ease her pain as much as it was possible for him to do and now, here she was, immersed in it all over again. He vowed to have someone put to the rack for leaving the abominable thing behind.

"Come away, Lucrezia...come away, my love..." he coaxed her, but she would not be moved.

"It has been a week, Cesare; I understand from Micheletto that not one member of his family has come from Naples to see him to rest. Not one. Alessandro Farnese is to be his Chief Mourner. A man who did not even know him. They hate us that much that they would work such an ill upon a dead man? It is beyond my understanding, Cesare."

"Yes, Lucrezia, the ways of death and grieving are complicated. Who is to ever understand? Surely his family grieves him even though they are not present. Did they not accuse us of dancing on Juan's grave at your wedding? They did. Did we? No, we did not."

"But didn't we, brother? You and I both hurt father immensely with our sentiments at the time. And how awful of me is it that I don't understand such a thing until it touches me personally?"

"We, each of us, grieved him in our own way and went on with the things that had to be done, Lucrezia," he said gently but also firmly.

"My wedding—it was a thing to be done, indeed..." she said bitterly. "My wedding should have waited. This boy—my husband—should have someone in his family present to say a final goodbye. These are the awful facts, Cesare. Alfonso was a Prince of Naples and he's being handled like...like a Borgia Bastard."

"Guilt by association, hmm?" Cesare said sadly. "Come away, sis, this will not do you well, not at all. Your son awaits you; your mother's and your father's loving arms await you. Damn everyone else—Alfonso will forever be honored in your loving memory, he will have that. Come away with me, sis, and let us go remember them both, Juan and Alfonso, to the glorious sunset."

* * *

The ride home had been a fairly quiet one; Cesare had been as lost in his own thoughts then as he had been when they stood together on a fourth-floor balcony of the palazzo watching, what he'd felt, was his last free sunset. Many of the questions he had sought to answer for himself were no clearer than before, but he was at least of the conviction that his path forward was true.

Lucrezia had resumed her endeavor to finish packing her meager belongings, the majority of which had accompanied little Giovanni on his trip home to her mother; soon thereafter it was time to ride. Where Cesare's path was at least illuminated, her own was bathed in only in discomforting darkness. What did her future hold? What plans had her father been hatching for her while she was away? What strange political bedfellow had he wooed and won that she would next have to call husband?

She pushed that thought from her head and concentrated on her love beside her, who had been content to keep his attention to her restricted to his loving but silent embrace. On to the Romagna, for him, and who knew what other principalities. She realized suddenly that her astounding talent at forgetting him when he was away was no more than a matter of self-preservation; a survival tactic; a defense mechanism that she must employ so as to be of any use to herself or anyone else, rather than be consumed with crippling worry and longing for him.

"Well, brother, you promised me a week, but I shall be happy for our past four nights together," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness, as she dared to break the silence between them; they were nearing the Elian Bridge and their time alone would soon be very much over.

"I promised you a week, sis, and a week you shall have," he took her chin in hand and gave her a sweet kiss upon her lips. "No matter what business there is that will surely rip us away from one another tonight—you _will_ wake up in my arms in the morning," he said when their lips parted as he looked his promise intently into her eyes with his own, "and any morning thereafter when I find myself home and under the same roof with you, Lucrezia, whatever roof that may be; without explanation, excuse, or apology—we will stand in no one's judgment; when I am home you are mine—no matter what and no matter who—repeat it to me..." he ordered her gruffly. His voice full of passion for her and defiance against anything that would deny them thusly.

"No matter what and no matter who—when you are home I am yours alone, Cesare."

He hugged her to himself tightly then, as a man drowning in a vast sea who has found and anchor suddenly before him to take hold of and save him from sure death; he clung to her just as desperately and did not let go until long after their carriage had finally stopped.

* * *

Anxious to see his children upon their return, Rodrigo waited with Vannozza and Giovanni inside the immediate entrance of the Basilica. When Cesare and Lucrezia entered through the doors, with Micheletto bringing up the rear, his joy was immediate.

"Vannozza, Our children are with Us again, at last!" their father's commanding voice boomed out and echoed down the hall at them. "Lucrezia, my Lucrezia—come to Us, my love..." Rodrigo raced to his daughter with outstretched arms and took her into his firm embrace. "Daughter, Our deepest condolences..." he kissed the top of her head. "How do you fare, Our darling girl?" he asked when he released her and looked into her misty eyes.

"Thank you, Holy Father..." her voice faltered then and she buried her face into his chest as the tears came. Giovanni, who had seen his mother from his grandmother's arms began to squirm and fuss for his own release at the sound of her voice.

"Yes, yes, she is here, she is here, Giovanni..." Vannozza cooed at him as she took the babe to his mother.

"Hello, my love...your son will not be denied any longer...Lucrezia, my love..." Vannozza called to her daughter softly.

Lucrezia broke away from her father and hugged her mother even as she took her son into her arms. "Thank you, mother, for everything..."

"Of course, my love..." her mother stepped away as Lucrezia cradled Giovanni in her arms and lavished him with sweet, gentle kisses.

"Come, everyone, and let Us enjoy this happy reunion in Our apartments..." Rodrigo made to usher them all away.

"Holy Father." The challenge registered in Lucrezia's voice stopped everyone in their footsteps and they all turned to face her. Cesare, Vannozza and Micheletto could each tell, by the sound of her voice, that Lucrezia was not of easy disposition; the worried expressions on each of their faces as they looked to one another confirmed it; Rodrigo only looked mildly befuddled.

"Yes, daughter? Does something trouble you?"

"You call this a happy reunion when a man lies dead and cold upon a slab? Awaiting a funeral so unbecoming a Prince of Naples and final audience with his dark, lonely grave." Her tone was cold and her gaze upon him was colder. Rodrigo appeared undone at her effrontery.

"Lucrezia, you are aggrieved and not yourself," he blustered at her.

"I am most definitely myself, Holy Father."

Cesare tried to catch her gaze with his own but Lucrezia kept hers settled upon her father. All she could think about at that moment was the silent death sentence Rodrigo had issued at her in the confessional when Cesare had gone off to conquer Forli. She refused to have his ever-apparent lack of regard for her husband, and therefore, herself, be tolerated yet again.

"We...We do not understand, daughter, what it is that pains you at this moment..." Rodrigo managed with difficulty as he made to approach her.

"I shall tell you, Holy Father." Again, the power and vehemence behind her words stopped him in his tracks. "I will not sleep this night until you tell me what my immediate future holds, since it is not mine to decide."

"Lucrezia...surely this is not the time or the place to discuss such things... tomorrow, after mass..." he tried to dismiss her with a smile and a wave of his hand to come join him and away.

"It may not be the place, Holy Father, but it is most assuredly the time."

"Then let Us take up this conversation in Our apartments, daughter," he suggested then, his own anger rising to the level of hers.

"Cesare has the Romagna to command; Gioffre oversees Squillace; mother has her interests to keep her busy—what is there for me to look forward to, Holy Father? For myself and my child? I would take this up now," she told him defiantly.

Rodrigo was visibly taken aback and shot insulted glances at Vannozza and Cesare seeking some form of agreement, silent or otherwise, that Lucrezia was behaving in a most ungracious manner. He saw no such corroboration of his feelings whatsoever upon their faces. He turned back to his daughter.

"Then at least have Giovanni taken away and spared the heated debate We are sure is forthcoming," he demanded of her.

She stood ever undaunted before him, his rage seeming only to cause her to become even calmer. "Giovanni stays with me, Holy Father—he shall never be forced away from my arms again." It was a declaration of war.

Vannozza looked as if she was about to faint and took hold of Cesare's arm for support.

Micheletto, standing beside him gave no hint of emotion upon his face, but silently applauded Lucrezia's brave resolve against her father. _Yes, Lucrezia, you most definitely could have been my sister born. _Against his own will a slight, but proud, smile formed on his otherwise stoic face; he hoped that she had seen it but would fault her not if she hadn't, for like a good assassin, her target was centered and her aim was sure—she meant to kill the spectre of her unknown future and end its plague upon her.

"Alright! Alright! We would have you and your household away to Rocca di Nepi, Lucrezia, and We have secured a governorship for you there. Does that sound like a Father who cares not for His daughter? Why must you find it necessary to try Us in such a manner?" he railed at her.

"Until?"

"What do you mean, 'until'?" Rodrigo asked her then as he tried to comport himself.

"Until you enjoin me to another brute of your choosing—how long is my sentence, father?"

"How many times must We apologize for Giovanni Sforza?" he asked her then, in great torment.

"Our Holy Father need not make further apology—only ensure his daughter that she must not suffer an alliance such as that again, otherwise she would be content never to marry again and die in Nepi, unbothered, in the happy company of her child."

"Lucrezia..." Rodrigo unrooted himself from his spot finally and went to offer a hug in truce but Lucrezia side-stepped him and walked away.

"Thank you, Holy Father, for your indulgence. I shall take to my apartment now for I am tired and require time alone with my child. Good night."

They all watched her walk down the long corridor, take the stairs and disappear from their sight.

"Argh!" Rodrigo grunted his exasperation as he pounded his own fist. "What has gotten into her?" he directed at Cesare then. "You are the cause of this! You've had a week alone with her to fill her head with God only knows what infernal notions!"

"I have done no such thing, Holy Father. Lucrezia Borgia is very much her own woman. You would do well to remember that," Cesare sneered his defense at his father.

"Oh!" Rodrigo gave a dismissive wave at the air in frustration. "We have things to discuss, Cesare."

"Of course, Holy Father—to your quarters, then?"

"Yes...yes...come," he motioned at his son irritatedly to follow. "Goodnight, Vannozza," Rodrigo gave her a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Cesare did the same.

"Goodnight, mother."

"My love."

Vannozza watched her two men and Micheletto as they took their leave. "Wine...copious amounts of wine..." she muttered to herself as she headed to her own apartment.


	12. In His Loving Arms

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 12 In His Loving Arms

* * *

Cesare had dismissed Micheletto to his bed and was with Rodrigo in the antechamber to Rodrigo's bedroom; Rodrigo was seated behind his desk as Cesare paced the floor before him.

"Nepi, Holy Father? Is it even finished?" Cesare asked angrily.

"It is and ready to be gifted to her. Do you doubt her abilities to govern, Cesare?"

Cesare stopped in his tracks and faced his father. "You and I know well that Lucrezia could rule a city, country or His Holy Father's Vatican, that is not the issue—why would you send her to that desolate place? There aren't even three thousand people to administer to...she'll be alone..."

Rodrigo rose from his seat and leaned across the desk at his son, livid and unwilling to suffer another display of dismissive disrespect from yet another child of his own. "Have you forgotten her dead Prince, who lies in the Chapel of Santa Maria della Febbre, awaiting his final disposition? Have you!" he raged at his son. "You may not hear the rumblings of discord with your own ears, Cesare, but rumors are gathering themselves as pervasively as any thunderheads you've ever seen over Rome—the scope of this scandal goes beyond measure and We would have her away from here! If We could send her away tonight We would but We would not suffer her sure wrath at being denied final audience with her dearly departed. She will be dispatched immediately after the funeral and We will not endure one complaint—not even the hint of a complaint about it, are We understood?" he hissed at his son.

"Yes, Holy Father," Cesare said through tight lips.

"A week, it has been, with no explanation, not even an official inquiry as yet; the outrage has not been given voice, but it is a present and tangible thing, Cesare, We assure you. We are doing this for her sake." Rodrigo's eyes remained locked on his son's even as he comported himself and took his seat again. "Now...there are other matters to discuss, Cesare. Before you return to Romagna We shall elect twelve new Cardinals to the consistory..."

"Twelve! Ha!" Cesare reared back from his father, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "How in the world..." he began incredulously.

Rodrigo gave his son a sly smile. "There is a precedent—surely you must know that We checked with Burchart before We undertook this endeavor. They are a worthy and fine selection, We assure you..."

"I should hope so..."

"And six of them...are your kinsmen..."

Cesare found it necessary to take a seat upon that heady news. "That brings the count of my cousin-cardinals to ten, does it not?"

"It does. They are needed now, more than ever with the advent of your departure."

"Of course."

"So, Cesare, your plan—you will take hold first..."

"Of Pesaro, Holy Father. I must see to Forli as soon as possible, however..."

"Yes, of course. We would have you know that We have been negotiating with France—she has pledged her support of you, Cesare. The French Ambassador will be here in three weeks—you will escort him from Saint Spirito and into Rome."

"Yes, Holy Father."

"Regarding the office of Gonfalonier of the Church, We shall bestow your banners in a quiet ceremony the day after the burial of our dear Prince—does the suit?"

"Most assuredly."

Rodrigo gave a satisfied but tired sigh. "We would have sleep now, my son, We are certain that you require rest, as well."

"Yes, Holy Father, thank you. Goodnight." Cesare turned to leave.

"Cesare."

He turned to sound of his father's commanding voice to find Rodrigo standing with his arms outstretched. He went to his father and received his warm embrace.

"We love you, my son...my Cesare...We can never say it enough..." he whispered softly into his son's ear.

"And I, you, father," Cesare returned sincerely.

"In the morning then," his father smiled as they broke away from each other.

Cesare gave a slight bow and headed directly for his sister.

* * *

Cesare had gone to Lucrezia's apartment knowing that sleep would be as much a stranger to her as it was to himself. She had let him in quietly.

"Giovanni has been quite fussy—I only just got him to sleep, Cesare, do be quiet..." she had admonished him in a whisper as she let him in.

"Then call your nurse and come with me—we must talk."

"Go and wait for me, then, I shall be along shortly."

* * *

"So soon? No chance to even enjoy a visit with our mother?" she asked him, crestfallen.

"I'm afraid not, sis."

"Well." Lucrezia was outdone.

"I shall escort you..." he began desperately.

"No, Cesare, you must receive your banners; you must return to your campaign. If I am to be alone...I would prefer to be left to my solitude without remembrances of you haunting my every moment; your lingering presence would only add to my discontent. No, it must all be new and untouched or I will never survive it," she told him sadly.

"Lucrezia..." he went to her and took her into a firm, apologetic embrace.

"It's alright, brother; Giovanni deserves a stable anchor to host his crib, as does my own bed. I am in mourning after all, am I not? And mourn I shall."

"I am losing you—I feel it in every bone in my body," he moaned into her hair.

"You will never lose me, Cesare. I must simply resign myself to these current state of affairs, that is all. I _should_ be away from our father now or I shall be driven to a most deliberate and murderous act of my own." Her voice was quiet and as disassociated as her gaze at him.

"You do not mean that," he said tormentedly as he took her face into his hands and looked his reprimand into her eyes.

Lucrezia burst into tears then.

"Lucrezia, my love..." As he cradled her in his arms, his heart was breaking for them both.

"I must... go on to my lonely bed, brother," she managed through her tears.

"No, stay with me...I promised that you would wake up in my arms in the morning... we must finish out our week, do you not agree? I would not see you in a lonely bed tonight, sister," he told her firmly. "Come with me..."

He led his despondent sister back to her apartment.

"My Lady, Giovanni still sleeps," her nurse informed her quietly when they entered the salon.

"Thank you, Miracella, you are dismissed," Lucrezia told her tiredly.

"My Lady," the nurse curtsied at her and made haste away, uneasy under Cesare's menacing glare as he stood behind his sister.

"Come, sister," he took her hand and led her to her bedroom.

"Cesare, I..." she began to protest.

"To your bed," he told her firmly.

Lucrezia went and stood before it.

"Out of your gown, then..." he instructed her; he turned her around and began undoing the laces at the back of her dress; after she let it slip to the floor he turned her to face him. "Lay yourself down..." he helped her into the bed and secured the cover over her. He came out of his doublet and then lay upon the bed as she turned to face him; he took her hands into his and kissed them both then put his forehead to hers. "I promised you a week and a week you shall have, sister, no argument, my love...even though I would do more I would have you know that just holding you now is ever enough and _everything_ that I desire..." he whispered at her.

Silent tears sprang anew to her eyes. "I love you, Cesare...you shall never lose me," she managed to whisper back at him.

"And I, you...close your eyes now and sleep my love."

Lucrezia wanted to gaze into his loving eyes forever but was finally overtaken by her exhaustion and escaped her torments, at last, in the loving arms of Somnus and her beloved Cesare.


	13. Trouble

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 13 Trouble

* * *

"Lucrezia? Lucrezia, my love..." he whispered softly to his sleeping sister.

Lucrezia found it hard to open her eyes; she felt the presence of another between herself and Cesare and realized that it was her son fidgeting excitedly against her bosom. "There is no finer moment I would have this day to help ease my melancholy than to wake up to my two loves..." she said as she cuddled her son then looked over at Cesare.

Cesare smiled his affection back at her.

"What time is it? Dawn has not even broken..." she said as she looked over to the window.

"Giovanni was fussing in his crib, quite outdone and missing his mother...we had quite a lovely conversation—and a change of your clout, huh, little nephew?" he cooed at the boy.

"Did you, now? And just what did the two of you discuss?" asked Lucrezia, her eyes full of amusement.

"Oh, well, we talked about things men are wont to discuss: the state of Italian affairs; the best strategies for breaking in one's hobby horse; the beautiful golden-haired woman who belongs to us both, lying oblivious to us equally, in her bed."

Lucrezia chuckled. "Really? Giovanni is not even big enough for a hobby horse yet."

"That's what I told him, as well, but he assured me that he does indeed have his heart set on a very particular one, made of fine Ceylon cedar with a chestnut mane and leather and gold reins..."

"Oh, he does? Is that right, Giovanni?" she asked of her smiling son.

"But he grew tired of me and insisted that he would take that, and the issue of breakfast, up with you." Cesare kissed the back of the baby's head and then his sister's forehead. "It is just as well, my love—no matter how chastely we slept this morning we cannot have the servants find us this way, hmm?"

Lucrezia nodded her reluctant agreement.

"A half-hour to sunrise, at the most; I shall be able to retire to my own room and have a nap, at least, for I've been content to lay here beside you and look at your angelic face...and think the happiest thoughts I shall be blessed to think for quite some time to come."

"You've been awake all of this time?" Her voice registered alarm.

"Happily. I will see you soon at the chapel, sis...good morning..." he dared to kiss her lips then, with great passion and longing. Their eyes lingered upon each other for a long while after he broke away from her at last; he kissed the top of Giovanni's head tenderly and then wordlessly left them both.

* * *

As Lucrezia sat in her pew in Santa Maria della Febbre she was struck by the loneliness of Alfonso's flag-draped coffin before the altar, made even lonelier by the small number of attendees in the chapel. It seemed a sad affair to her indeed, with only herself, her nursemaid Miracella, Giovanni, Vannozza, Giulia, Alessandro's mistress, Silvia, and Cesare in attendance. She knew that her father would not officiate the mass, but that he did not even come to her before its proceeding annoyed her to no end. He could hide behind the excuse of his Papal duties, but she was to leave Rome immediately after the mass and he had not even come to say goodbye to her.

In less than an hour all the words had been said by a priest who had never known him and only Alessandro Farnese, who had not known him either, walked behind the coffin to its final disposition. As Lucrezia made her way down the aisle out of the chapel Giulia stopped her.

"Lucrezia...I am so sorry for your loss, my love."

Lucrezia handed Giovanni to Miracella and then accepted Giulia's warm embrace. "Thank you, La Bella." Lucrezia looked askance at her dear friend as they released each other. "What is this? You have the glow of woman with a divine secret, La Bella."

"I do have a secret, and it brings me much joy even as my heart breaks for you now, Lucrezia."

"You...you are—with child, La Bella?" A little smile broke across Lucrezia's face.

"I am!" Giulia checked herself as she looked down at the floor in embarrassment at her inappropriate display of joy.

"I dreamed of babies and my brothers as happy children the whole week I was gone, La Bella—and it was all really about you, it seems—congratulations, my love. Is your child—to be a sibling of mine?" Lucrezia asked delicately.

"Yes."

"Does our Holy Father know? Surely you have told him..."

"Not yet, Lucrezia, and I seem to waver within myself as to whether I will actually do so—Giovanni Capece has provided me every happiness—we are to be married next month."

"And I will not be here to see it," Lucrezia said sadly. "I feel nothing but joy in my heart for you, La Bella, you have more than earned this happiness."

"Your words I know to be true, my Lucrezia, but I know you—your heart is heavy and your blood boils for all of us whose hearts have suffered the abuse of your determined Holy Father; but believe me, dear one, he will do right by you, I promise you that—he did for your dear mother, did he not? Provided her with not one, but three fine husbands, Lucrezia! Who loved her, each and every one. He has provided me with a man I shall go to my grave loving with my whole heart, even as Rodrigo himself resides within it, as well. He will do the same for you, Lucrezia, for I heard from his own lips that your next husband must be more worthy of your heart than of his political desires—from his own lips, my love...wait—what do you mean you will not be here?"

"I love you, Giulia Farnese..." Lucrezia kissed Giulia's lips. "I do appreciate your hopes for me and I do not doubt that the words you heard Our Holy Father say were spoken, but they are only words, after all. It matters not what type of man he hopes to enjoin me to, or if he is worthy or not—to put me forward for another alliance is to deny my son my bosom—you know this. I would prefer to never marry again and die and rather than suffer the forfeiture of my son again," she said sadly.

"Lucrezia, my love..."

"Go on to your happy life, La Bella—it does my heart well to know that someone in this family shall truly have one. When your little one is born, give him or her a loving kiss from me and their cousin Giovanni." Lucrezia gave her confused friend another kiss as a single tear fell from her eye and then hastened away with Miracella and Giovanni in tow. Cesare, who had been watching them from the corner of his eye, broke away from his conversation with his mother and Silvia and headed for his sister. He was approached then and stopped by Johannes Burchart and a man unknown to him.

"Your Excellence, I am Ambassador Ascanio Liverotto..."

Cesare shot the man an undignified look. "Whoever you are, you will excuse me..." he made to continue to his sister.

"Your Excellence, your presence is required now for an informal inquest of the death of Prince Alfonso of Naples," the man continued.

"What?" he snorted his surprise at Liverotto and Burchart both.

"The family of Prince Alfonso seeks understanding and closure to his most unfortunate end, Your Excellence, surely you can understand? His Holiness and the Consistory await, Your Excellence." Burchart intervened.

Cesare only gave them both a scathing look. "You will excuse me to go and say goodbye to his aggrieved wife." He left them.

"Lucrezia? What is it?" he asked her before she got to the chapel doors.

"It is time for goodbye, Cesare, is it not?"

"Not in front of all of these eyes..." he made to lead her away.

"No, brother, we will say goodbye here—it is far safer for my heart for me to do so now—if I have a moment alone with you I will never be able to leave. A chaste, familial kiss to my cheek now, brother, your love and best wishes, and I shall do the same—for all of these eyes upon us."

Cesare was almost speechless at her insistence and resolve; his eyes darted about to the others in the chapel, casting his anger and frustration at suffering their existence in his world at that moment.

"Cesare..." Lucrezia dared to take him by the neck gently and put her forehead to his, "stop this, my love, we are making spectacle enough of ourselves," she cautioned him. "Kiss my cheek and then call our mother over..."

Cesare rolled his eyes hard in his head and let out a grunt of tortured and true dismay; he opened them and looked into his sister's misty eyes, his own still angry and resentful but full of his silent declaration of love for her.

"I know, my love—and I, you," she whispered at him.

He broke away from her at last and did as she had commanded; he kissed her cheek chastely and then looked over at his mother and held out his arm to her.

"What is this, my children? Cesare? Lucrezia? My loves?" Vannozza looked to them both in great despair then took her daughter into her embrace.

"Cesare only seeks to comfort me, mother, and to say goodbye," Lucrezia said against her mother's shoulder.

"Goodbye? What do you mean, 'goodbye'?" Vannozza's confusion was honest as she disengaged from her daughter and held her at a gentle arm's length.

"You do not know, then? He did not tell you." It was more of a statement than a question and Cesare's anger flashed anew in his eyes and upon his face, through flaring nostrils and gritted teeth.

"He? Who? Tell me what?"

"He is sending me away today, mother...now...to Nepi."

"What?" Vannozza's outrage was complete and echoed loudly throughout the chapel.

"It seems our Holy Father is full of all of his usual secrets. Lucrezia's retinue awaits her as we speak, mother," Cesare informed her.

"Lucrezia, my love, I did not know! Why? Why?"

"Why, mother? As with everything—because it is his will." Lucrezia looked from her mother to her brother with vacant, defeated eyes, broke away from her mother and left them both without another word.

"I will throttle him!"

"You'll have to wait until after my inquest," Cesare hissed as he watched his sister disappear with Miracella and Giovanni through the chapel doors.

"What is this, now? Inquest? What inquest?"

"An 'informal' inquest into Alfonso's death. Holy Father awaits me, I have just been informed, along with the Consistory and an agent of the royal house of Naples."

"Just been informed, you say? I...I am..."

"Calm yourself, mother—or try to anyway...I shall come to you when it is done, yes?" he counseled her gruffly.

"Yes, my love, thank you."

Cesare gave his mother a kiss to her cheek and then hastened away defiantly to the Basilica with Burchart and Liverotto on his heels.

"My Lady, what is it?" asked Giulia as she and Silvia rushed to Vannozza in great alarm.

"Did you know of this, Giulia? That Rodrigo was sending Lucrezia away today?"

"No, I swear it, Vannozza—he does not confide in me as he used to—as you well know." The two women looked at each other in recognition, for it was common knowledge that Vannozza and Rodrigo had somehow rekindled their relationship and that he had not garnered a husband for Giulia a moment too soon. "The last conversation I had with Rodrigo was about Lucrezia, but that he had vowed to God in heaven that he would provide a worthy husband for her. I knew nothing of this—sending her away? To where?"

"Nepi...this very moment."

"And what of Cesare? Is there some trouble?"

"I love that boy more than my own life, but with him there is always trouble...worry and trouble..." Vannozza said with quiet frustration to the two women who stood with her looking into the unknown beyond the wide double-doors of the chapel.


	14. Inquisition

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 14 Inquisition

* * *

"Verbum incarnatum. His Holiness, Pope Alexander Sixtus of that name, calls to order a meeting of the sacred College of Cardinals. In attendance today, Francesco Gazella of the Royal House of Naples, his proxy, Ambassador Ascanio Liverotto, here for the proceedings of this informal inquest into the death of Alfonso of Aragon, Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno of the House of Trastámara. Also in attendance: His Excellence, Duke of Valentinois, Cesare Borgia; Don Aposto Riario, medic; Don Roberto Visoglio, surgeon; Rustighello Zambotto, valet to the late Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno of the House of Trastámara, Alfonso of Aragon."

After Johannes Burchart called the meeting to order he quickly took his seat at his desk behind the left side of the Pope's throne and settled himself before his parchment; with his quill poised he waited to begin transcribing the ensuing events.

From his throne Rodrigo addressed Ambassador Liverotto. "Ambassador Liverotto, Our deepest sympathies at this difficult time and Our welcome to you."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," the man bowed before him then approached, knelt and kissed the ring on Rodrigo's outstretched hand, then backed away to stand again before him.

"You represent?"

"Alfonso of Aragon's uncle, Francesco Gazella, primarily, Your Holiness."

"Don Gazella was unable to travel to Rome?"

"He was...unable, Your Holiness," Liverotto answered him simply.

Rodrigo shifted in his seat in obvious consternation at the man's refusal to be more forthcoming. "We would like to know if there is a specific reason Don Gazella was unable to come to Rome, Ambassador Liverotto...We are simply...curious."

Liverotto remained steadfast. "I know the reason, Your Holiness. Don Gazella's sentiments are rather caustic and it is not my desire to insult His Holiness."

His statement elicited a shocked little buzz amongst the cardinals but Rodrigo smiled at the man. "We hazard that We very well understand what those sentiments may be, Ambassador Liverotto. Please impart to Don Gazella that We harbor no grudge against him, though he may he against Us, regarding his discontent over the nullification of the marriage of the late Alfonso's dear cousin Beatrice. We are pleased that his family cared enough, at least, to send someone forward in some manner and We welcome this inquest—you may proceed."

"Thank you, Your Holiness, I will impart your sentiments to the family thusly. The royal house of Naples would like an audience with Don Aposto Riario."

How masterful, Liverotto thought to himself, of the Spanish Monster, as Don Gazella often called the Pope, to turn a slight around and impugn those who would hold him responsible for the murder of their Alfonso, whether directly or indirectly; the gentle rebuff that effectively quieted the consistory further proved the Pope's cunning.

Of the four men standing at the back of the room waiting to be called forth, Cesare noted his father's guile, as well, even though he was seething with rage that Rodrigo had seen fit to allow him to be ambushed into the inquest. Riario came forward and took a seat at a small table set up on the carpet between the cardinals, facing the Pope and his inquisitor.

"Riario?" asked Rodrigo of Ascanio Sforza over his shoulder when he waved him gently forward. "Should We be worried?"

"A distant cousin, Your Holiness, but not a political one. He is a man of good virtue and an excellent medic. You can count on his testimony to be true, and better—unbiased," Ascanio assured him.

"Is there anyone in Rome that you are not related to, Cardinal Sforza?" Rodrigo asked him facetiously. Ascanio only smiled as he stepped back to his post.

"Don Riario, you attended to the deceased on the night of his injury and subsequent death?" Liverotto began authoritatively.

"Yes, I did." The doctor straightened up a bit more in his chair defensively as if he was being accosted.

"How did you find him upon your first examination?"

"He was an Italian male; approximately nineteen years of age; of general good health and bearing; inebriated and wounded fatally by the stab of a sword through his thoracic cavity. His condition was consistent with that of one who has fallen onto a sword accidentally as opposed to having been decidedly run through."

"How would one know the difference?"

"Well, you see, in a parry or fight, for instance, when one has been run though violently, the stab wound is generally clean—you puncture—you retract..." the doctor demonstrated the move with an invisible blade. "Or, you stab and then jerk upwards, to eviscerate—a finishing move, you see, to ensure that your victim is assuredly dead..." he stood up to demonstrate again with his invisible blade, then took his seat again. "The execution of such moves require strength and great force of dispatch. The Prince's wound was of no such nature; the entry point of the wound was not so clean, as the blade had been canted slightly; he fell further upon it and upon the bearer of the sword..."

"The bearer of the sword?"

"Yes, the bearer of the sword, His Excellence, Cesare Borgia. Uh...yes, where was I?"

"...the entry point of the wound was not so clean, as the blade had been canted slightly; he fell further upon it and upon the bearer of the sword..." supplied Burchart.

"Oh, thank you, yes—falling upon the sword caused further irregularities to flesh at the entry point and did further damage to his internal organs as the blade shifted its direction from his weight placed upon it as he fell forward."

"How can you be so sure that it was an accident?" Liverotto managed to keep his tone even and clinical.

"As I said, the Prince had been in his cups—and pardon me—he reeked of strong ale, which was quite evident on his breath. Again, his wound was not consistent at all with a battle wound; and it was a sucking wound, you see, taking in air from without the body that is detrimental to the body internally; he was bleeding copiously—he was still alive. A true battle wound would have killed him. Not only that, His Excellence, Cesare Borgia, was greatly and visibly distraught."

Liverotto looked almost pained at that bit of information and quickly directed away from anything resembling compassion from the Borgia Bastard. "Upon further examination what did you find the Prince's prognosis to be?"

"Well, unfortunately, I am not a surgeon, but I hazard that had a surgeon been available it would have done the boy no good; too many vital organs had been ruptured—it was a toss up between infection and the internal bleeding as to which would kill him first. Sure death was the prognosis, sir, I am sorry to say."

"And which one was it that eventually killed him?"

"Most definitely the severe loss of blood, sir."

"How many times did you examine him?"

"The first instance, of course, when I was summoned to the room where he fell; subsequently in the bedchamber he shared with his wife, for most of the night; at that point it was a matter of binding the wound and administering medicine to try and ease the pain."

"And what medicine did you give him?"

"Uh, the usual remedies: myrrh as an antiseptic; yarrow; coriander to try and reduce his fever—to no avail on that, I might add; a stick in his mouth to bite on. The whole of the time I was at the palace the boy was unmercifully conscious and in agonizing pain."

"And his wife, the Lady Lucrezia—where was she all of this time?"

"By his side and assisting me; when she was not assisting me she was trying to soothe him, crying silent tears as she lay beside him. When I was called by the Orsini housemaid to their bedchamber for the last time, the Prince had expired; his wife lay exhausted on a settee in the anteroom, seemingly near death, herself. The Lady was most obviously bereft."

"What time was this, that you found the Prince expired?"

"Approximately two o'clock in the morning."

"And what time was it when you last left him, in agony but still alive?"

"Approximately two hours before that..."

"And you arrived upon the first call to the palace when?"

"The early evening...approximately nine o'clock."

"So...five hours—is it uncommon that such a wound could take so short a time to end a man's life?"

"Not at all—he could have lingered like that for days...or minutes. God was indeed merciful, in the end, I hazard to say."

Liverotto did not look happy, the Pope noted.

"And after his death, Don Riario, what happened next?"

"Well, I was called by His Excellence, Cesare Borgia, to take the Prince's body away and tend to it's final disposition at the Vatican, here, sir; I delivered the body to Roberto Visoglio at Chapel of Santa Maria della Febbre, who prepared it for burial."

"Could you not have prepared the body at Orsini Palace?"

"Partially, yes; the cleansing and initial preparation, but not the embalming, of course. I was alarmed, at first, at the request of his Excellence to take the Prince away..."

"Why so?"

"As I said, only the initial cleansing of the body could have been done by me; I have prepared bodies for burial in a pinch, for peasants who had money for no more than a pine box, maybe; locals in a hurry—as in the heat of summer—again, with not much money but good and sanitary intent. But this was not such a case and the dispatch of the Prince's body to the Vatican was indeed the proper call."

Again, Liverotto looked displeased. "Thank you, sir, that is all. The royal house of Naples would like an audience with Don Roberto Visoglio."

Visoglio passed Riario as he came from the back of the room and the two men exchanged nervous glances. Visoglio, an old man near his retirement from the pratice of medicine, took his seat at the table.

"Don Visoglio, you are a surgeon?"

"Yes, I am."

"You are authorized and capable of performing autopsies and embalming bodies?"

"Yes, I am."

"You embalmed the Prince?"

"I did."

"Did you perform an autopsy?"

"I did not."

"Did you examine his body at all?"

"I had no reason to, sir."

Liverotto turned red and looked as if he would strike the old doctor and Visoglio actually flinched; the consistory began to buzz anew. Against the back wall Cesare's smirk matched the one on his own father's face at the front of the room.

"You. Had. No. Reason..." Liverotto repeated, as if in a stupor.

"No, sir."

"Thank you, Don Visoglio, you are dismissed."

The old man hopped out of his seat with surprising spryness and scurried away.

"The royal house of Naples would like an audience with Rustighello Zambotto, valet to Prince Alfonso."

A young boy, not much older than the late Prince, peeled himself off of the back wall where he had stood beside Cesare and made his way to the table.

"Rustighello, how long had you been in the employ of Prince Alfonso?"

"Since one year before his marriage, sir."

"What was he like to work for, Rustighello?"

"He always did right by me, sir. I was honored and happy to work for him. I've had other masters not nearly so kind."

"Were the two of you close at all? Did he ever confide in you or you to him?"

"No sir, never nothing like that. But he always did right by me, sir." The boy was growing visibly nervous.

"Yes, you said that. Did you ever notice anything different about your master after he came to Rome?"

"Which time?"

"Oh...yes—the first time, when he was betrothed to the Lady Lucrezia Borgia."

"He seemed happy sir."

"And upon his second entry into Rome, after he and his wife had escaped their hostage situation in Naples?"

"Not so happy," the boy admitted easily. Cesare noted that everyone in the room seemed to sit up in their seats and take closer notice; Liverotto looked relieved, as if he would finally find out something incriminating to use against a Borgia—any Borgia—at last.

"How had he changed, then? What let you know that your master was not happy?"

"He was drunk most of the time, sir, day as well as evening."

"Were any of you restricted at Orsini Palace, Rustighello?"

"Only from leaving and going into the city—we all had the run of the palace and the grounds. But he was despondent."

"Well, are there any insights that you can offer, Rustighello?"

"Well..." the young man was hesitant; the hush in the room was such that had a pin dropped to the floor it would have been audible. "Well, he was very close to his uncle, the late King Ferdinand and the King's death upset him greatly—the whole house of Naples had been upset and affected after his horrible death, actually; the events leading up to his cousin's coronation, King Frederigo, were quite horrible, as well."

"A note to His Holiness and all present here today, as many of you may not be aware: there was an attempt made on Prince Frederigo's life before he was crowned—he was poisoned..." Liverotto explained to the consistory.

Again, a ripple of excitement went through the room; some in attendance had heard of the account but to many others it was most definitely news of the most sensational sort, for the rancor between Alfonso's cousins, then Prince Frederigo and Prince Raphael, had almost been the stuff of legend. Rodrigo found it necessary to quiet the room.

"Cardinals, please—let Ambassador Liverotto continue," came his commanding voice over the din.

"Thank you, Your Holiness," Liverotto gave him a small bow and then turned his attention back to the boy. "As we all now know, the Prince survived and became King. Go on, now, Rustighello—do you know of anything else that may have contributed to Prince Alfonso's despondency?"

"No, sir, I cannot say that I do—or did, rather."

Liverotto hated to ask the next question but knew that he had to. "Can you think of anything that brought him joy during those dark times, Rustighello?"

"His wife, I'm fairly sure—the Lady Lucrezia. He was very fond of her little bastard as well, Giovanni," the boy said honestly.

At the back of the room Cesare's hackles were visibly raised; he took an angry step forward but Rodrigo shot him a stern look and gave the slightest nod of his head that caused him to stop in his tracks as the room erupted again, this time in nervous titillation.

"Cardinals! Your attention, please..." Rodrigo's voice boomed out over their less than hushed mumblings amongst each other. The consistory quieted. "Go on, Ambassador Liverotto," Rodrigo leveled a benevolent smile at the man along with a royal wave of his finger for him to proceed.

Liverotto was outdone at the unflappableness of the man but nodded his thanks at him. "Thank you, Your Holiness." Liverotto looked back to the boy and over his head to Cesare Borgia, who was not as unflappable as his father; he couldn't wait to get him in the chair.

"Is there nothing else, Rustighello, that you may be able to shed any light on regarding our dearly departed Prince? His wife and her son brought him joy—how did he fare with the rest of her family?" Liverotto asked delicately.

"Well, I was not privy to his few interactions with the rest of Lady Lucrezia's family, save for her brother."

"Which brother?" Liverotto struggled to hold his temper with the simple boy.

"His Excellence...Cesare Borgia, sir."

"And of those few interactions that you were privy to, how did the two men seem to get along, Rustighello?"

"Not well, sir...not well, at all."

Rodrigo could see Cesare's nostrils flaring all the way from his vantage point at the front of the room; the cardinals let out a collective gasp and tongues began again to wag; again he shot a warning look at his son to be still then addressed the consistory.

"Cardinals! Must We say it again? Quiet! The boy must be allowed to give his testimony! We will not tolerate any other such outbursts—are We clear on this matter?"

The cardinals all nodded their quiet assents at him.

"Very good. Rustighello—" he addressed the boy with his powerful voice then; the boy looked as if he might faint dead away.

"Yes, Your Holiness?"

"You are doing a magnificent job—please take your ease and continue," Rodrigo admonished him with a fatherly smile and an approving nod through closed eyes. Rustighello dared to smile his thanks at him.

At the back of the room Cesare let out an inaudible guffaw at his father's simple tactic which had won the boy over, incensed Liverotto and grudgingly impressed the cardinals; he settled himself back against the wall.

"Rustighello," Liverotto began forcefully, causing the boy's attention away from the Pope and the smile to disappear instantly from his face, "what incidents, if any, can you attest to that corroborate your estimation that the two men, His Excellence, Cesare Borgia, and Prince Alfonso, did not get on well 'at all' as you said?"

"Only one, sir, that comes easily to mind. Prince Alfonso always seemed uneasy around His Excellence, and for that I know not why—both of them always did right by me, sir, as much as you can a lowly attendant.

"It was when we returned to Rome from Naples and just before His Excellence left Rome, sir, for the battle of Forli; I was posted outside of a room in the armory, where my master was training at sword practice..."

"'We'?"

"My master, the Lady Lucrezia, her son, her maid and myself, sir. We had been captive under King Frederigo in Naples, and escaped back to Rome."

"How was that accomplished, Rustighello? The escape from Naples?"

"I'm sure that I do not know, except to say that I saw the village witch enter the palace late in the evening—later everyone in the palace, except my master and his family, had fallen into a curious and heavy stupor—everyone, passed out and slept where they sat or stood—or fell. We walked out, walked right out to our freedom and rode to Rome, sir."

"Who did the witch have audience with?"

Cesare and Rodrigo knew well the circumstances and particulars of Lucrezia's escape from Naples; they both could see quite evidently that Liverotto was trying to cast dispersion on someone— anyone—who was Borgia; so far he had come up empty, but the utterance of the word 'witch' set the consistory to quiet but palpable stirrings.

"I do not know, sir, I had seen her there before, dispensing herbs to the ladies of the palace—her presence was not uncommon."

"But you felt her presence to be uncommon that night?"

"Somewhat, yes."

"Why?"

"Well, actually, I only thought it odd after the whole of the palace fell asleep—it was my suspicion that she had a hand in it."

"At the direction of whom?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Your master? Your lady?"

"I do not know, sir!" The boy was beginning to fray under Liverotto's harsh examination.

"Excuse me, Rustighello, I seem to have gone off on a tangent. Where were we?" he asked Burchart.

"...I was posted outside of a room in the armory, where my master was training at sword practice..." Burchart read aloud from his transcript.

"Thank you. Sword practice—what happened at sword practice?"

"My master saw His Excellence in passing and called him into the room and invited him to spar; the sword-master left them and they, indeed, began to cross swords."

"Did they have words?"

"They did, but I could not hear the conversation, sir, not at first."

"At first? What do you mean, 'at first'?"

"Well, their exchange became heated presently, between intermittent clashes of their swords—enough so that it drew the attention of soldiers passing by and caused the sword-master and myself to look into the room in alarm; I only heard my master say the word 'marriage'—something to that effect; when we looked in we saw that His Excellence had won the match—he picked my master's sword from the ground and handed it to him, said his goodbye and left."

"And how did your master appear to you then?"

"Shaken; out of sorts. He was in bad humor for the rest of the day and..." the boys voice faltered.

"Speak up, Rustighello."

"He was in his cups before sundown, sir, and in the most foul mood; he stayed that way for most of the duration of his time in Rome...at his quarters in Rome and at Orsini Palace, sir."

"Did you ever see the two men in company of each other again?"

"No, sir."

"Not the the night of your master's tragic 'accident'?"

"No, sir. I had retired for the evening, dismissed by my master, and was in my quarters when Lady Lucrezia's nursemaid, Miracella, knocked on my door frantically, on her way herself to see to Giovanni as his mother was busy with the medic seeing to my fallen master. I never saw him again, sir, not even after he passed. Everyone was sent away early the next morning: Lady Lucrezia's son and nursemaid back to Rome and myself back to Naples."

"Thank you, Rustighello, you may go now. The royal house of..."

"Ambassador Liverotto, We think that now would be a good time for small recess, yes?"

"With all due respect, Your Holiness, I have only one more person to question—His Excellence..."

"We are aware of that, good sir, but a small recess is required, nevertheless. Fifteen minutes, Ambassador, to stretch the legs, slake a parched throat, see to one's needs, yes?"

"Yes, Your Holiness," Liverotto conceded reluctantly.

"Very good. Fifteen minutes, Cardinals, and then We shall commence and conclude this inquest." Rodrigo dismissed the consistory but remained in his chair.

Liverotto, Cesare, Ascanio Sforza and Burchart remained as well. Burchart continued working on his transcription even though he was actually noting, with great detail for his own personal record, what was going on in the room at that time: The Pope and his Vice-Chancellor in quiet conversation; the Pope, who never once looked to his son, Cesare Borgia or held private congress with him; Cesare Borgia, who remained against the wall at the back of the room, arms folded across his chest, glowering at Ambassador Ascanio Liverotto, whose own countenance was none too pleasing in return. He was still writing furiously when the fifteen minutes were up and the cardinals filtered back into the room and took their seats.

"Thank you, Ambassador Liverotto, for your kind indulgence. We would ask that you please proceed," Rodrigo directed him.

"Thank you, Your Holiness. The royal house of Naples would like an audience with His Excellence, Duke of Valentinois, Cesare Borgia."


	15. The Secrets That Sustain Us

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 15 The Secrets That Sustain Us

* * *

Cesare walked with defiant steps to the front of the room and stood before his inquisitor.

"Please have a seat, Your Excellence." Liverotto's direction was not kind.

"I shall stand, thank you, for this shall be quick, sir." Cesare made no effort to disguise his anger; Rodrigo shot him a look, which he duly ignored.

"Very well. What can you tell us about the night that you stabbed the late Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno of the House of Trastámara, Alfonso of Aragon?"

"That sounds like an accusation of murder, sir," Cesare replied hotly.

"Maybe to a murderer it would, but it is simply a question, Your Excellence."

The consistory erupted in shock and outrage.

"Are you indeed calling the Duke a murderer?" a voice rang out.

"We would be clear on this, sir!" cried out another cardinal.

As ever, Rodrigo remained cool, showing no insult or emotion at all; he looked at Cesare as if he was a man he had only just met, then stood and addressed the cardinals.

"We would have silence!" The vociferous cardinals responded at once to Rodrigo's regal command; he addressed Liverotto next. "Now...Ambassador—as one of Our brother cardinals so eloquently stated, We would be clear: either you are leveling a charge of murder against the Duke of Valentinois or you will rephrase your question. Which is it to be, sir?" he asked him with a smile.

"I shall rephrase, Your Holiness," Liverotto said through tight lips. "Your Excellence, what can you tell us of the night of the unfortunate accident where the late Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno of the House of Trastámara, Alfonso of Aragon, fell upon your sword?"

"I can tell you that he was troubled; inebriated; contrary; he was despondent. I have no insights into his state of mind or that of his discontent. I treated him with the respect due him as a Prince of Naples and honored him as the beloved husband of my dear sister. I deeply and truly mourn his passing.

"I can tell you that I went to the palace that night to see him and my sister both, to let them know that the restrictions that had been placed upon them for their safety were at that point lifted; they were free to go about Rome as they pleased."

"And why had those restrictions been placed upon them?"

"I was going into battle; there was a threat upon my family and it was my intent to see to their protection. I was successful in my campaign and the threat was eliminated—I simply went to tell them the good news. I hoped that it would improve the late Prince's disposition—he had expressed interest in obtaining a commission—as a matter of fact, the night he expressed that interest, he drew his blade against me in front of his wife and the palace guards. He was in his cups that night, as well. I subdued him easily, that night, and told him that I would consider a commission for him upon my return.

"Upon my return he was agitated...and then saw fit to grab my blade and wield it against me; he was more than a capable swordsman, but he was drunk, unsteady—anger clouded his eyes and made his aim unsure as he swung wildly at me—had he been sober he could have surely killed me. I defended myself with my scabbard, knocked the blade out of his hand and him to the ground; I turned my back to him to retrieve my sword—when I turned around he was up and charging at me—and ran into the blade. He fell on top of me; I rolled him over, withdrew the blade and then my sister was there, frantic; I left to retrieve a medic—Don Riario. You know the rest."

"So convenient, is it not Your Excellence? Such a tale," Liverotto fumed at him, "You expect the Prince's family to believe such a tale? Such testimony? From a medic, who purports that he can distinguish from a bit of torn flesh rendered by a blade canted this way instead of that, an accident has occurred instead of murder? From a surgeon, either too old or simply incompetent—or dare we say, too inured to this court, this Vatican, to handle a death of such import in so sloppy a manner?"

Cesare's eyes shot to his father's to see how long he would allow the man to speak such insults; Rodrigo's eyes were cold and his tongue was still as the consistory erupted again, in outrage for him.

"You speak against the Vatican? Blasphemer!"

"Lay the charge or abandon this endeavor!" Cesare heard another cardinal shout out.

"I am not under oath here; yet I have relayed the events as they happened—you may accuse me however you like but we both know you have no such authority to charge or arrest me; if you have found enough evidence to do so then take it up with your King and have him do what he will, sir. Otherwise, this inquest is over," Cesare hissed at him and took his leave amidst the cheers of the consistory.

"Cardinals..." Rodrigo's voice was deep and serious, loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of their defense of Cesare but cold enough to turn blood to ice in one's veins—they quieted and a hush fell over the room. "Thank you." He addressed Liverotto then. "Ambassador Ascanio Liverotto." Rodrigo, leaning back on his throne, hand to his lips as if in deep contemplation, turned his cold, deadly gaze upon the man then, "We thank you for this opportunity to be heard. You are dismissed."

To Liverotto it sounded like a death sentence and he made haste away from the room and out of the very Basilica itself as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

* * *

"You knew this all along and could not find it beneficial to disclose to me, Holy Father?" Cesare was in a rage as he paced the salon floor of his father's apartment.

"Was it better to know or not to know when you had to plead ignorance?" said Rodrigo to his son with a sardonic little smile on his face.

"Argh!" Cesare's own words had come back to haunt him and he did not appreciate his father's turnabout one bit.

"We could not have you appear to have been ready for this and coached to tell a story that could have looked smug and rehearsed, hmm?"

"And this is truly why you had Lucrezia carted away? Does spiriting her away in such a manner not look suspicious in and of itself?"

"We care not how it looks, especially given the fact that she left Rome to grieve her husband and the place of her most immediate tormenting reminders of him—better to have unanswered questions as to the nature of her departure than to have her answers on record of any real questions that might have been be put to her this day had she remained in Rome, Cesare."

"But this inquest was informal—not official, at all..."

"No, not official, but with the potential for leveling great damage. He would have insisted upon questioning her and worked his questioning around to expound on who knows what slanderous seeds of gossip—a charge he could not level, but damage to our reputation he surely could have, and tried valiantly indeed, to do just that. We needed you to be the sour to Our sweet, my beloved son, and We needed Lucrezia to be spared from this entirely."

"She left here feeling abandoned by you, Holy Father..." Cesare said sadly then, calmer than he had been before.

"A necessary evil, my son, that We will make up to her in time. Again, We would rather the populace gossip and conjecture about Our falling out with Our darling daughter than the murderous blood they think that stains her hands and yours. You told the truth, Cesare; in Our own heart We know it was a horrible, horrible accident; We would never have been able to go through with this had We believed even remotely otherwise. Come here..." The two men embraced each other. "It is over now...find some ease, son, and prepare to take your banners tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, Holy Father."

"You will help Us find the best husband possible for your sister—that is how We will begin to make this whole unfortunate affair right with her. We will have your support in that, Cesare?"

"Yes, Holy Father."

"Very good. Until then, back to the business at hand, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good," Rodrigo smiled happily at Cesare as he released him. "We shall see you and your mother at dinner tonight—We have other pressing affairs to see to today."

"Yes, Holy Father."

Rodrigo gave his son a kiss to his forehead and then Cesare took his leave.

* * *

"Cesare! What on God's earth happened? I have been beside myself with worry..." Vannozza exclaimed as she ushered her son into her apartment.

"Mother..." Cesare took his fretful mother into his embrace and them sat her down. He told her every detail of the inquest amidst her gasps of surprise and outrage. When the telling was done at last she got up and poured them both generous goblets of her best wine.

"Good Lord, Cesare, this is all too much, yet I am a certain glutton for punishment—what happened that night after the medic left, my son? I truly believe that Alfonso was beside himself and the worst nuisance—he was no man—he and Gioffre both would have been better off as playmates to each other than let loose upon the world trying to command wives," she said disgustedly. "You are holding something back from me and I would have you relieve yourself of that burden." Her tone was adamant and final.

Cesare revealed it all to her; his initial plan to have Rufio kill the boy and the fact that it was indeed Lucrezia who put him out of his misery at his own insistence.

"Have you told your father any of this?"

"No, mother—secrets appear to be a staple that keeps this family alive, it seems."

"She did the right thing in honoring his request—the merciful thing, Cesare, I know you know this. I'm glad Rufio is dead, I'll readily tell you that. And now the house of Aragon should sufficiently let you be. I am surprised by the consistory—happily surprised."

"Do not enjoy their merry approvals too long, mother; they were caught up in the moment, that is all—Liverotto attacked not only the Borgia's but the Holy Mother Church herself; it was her that they defended, not me, I do not fool myself on that," he said tiredly.

"Maybe so, but the victory is still yours, my son, and I will forever thank God for that. Why don't you go and lie down—you look a positive fright, my love—did you get any sleep last night?"

"I...did not." Cesare gave his mother a strange look that she attributed to his fatigue.

"Go and lie down on my bed, this very moment—I insist. When you wake you will be refreshed, change your clothes and we'll meet your bear of a father for dinner. To your rest, my love, now..." Vannozza commanded him lovingly. Cesare placed a sweet kiss upon her cheek and did as he was told.


	16. The Road To Nepi

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 16 The Road To Nepi

* * *

While Cesare dreamt the dreams of a troubled man in his mother's bed, Lucrezia had long passed the gates of Rome; she sat in her carriage, despondent and quiet while Giovanni, thankfully, slept peacefully in her arms. Across from her, Miracella looked upon her mistress with her own heavy heart, sad for them both that they were leaving the familiar comforts of their true home for God only knew what unknown and sorry substitute they were headed toward.

Pietra, Lucrezia's maid, who had replaced her late maid, Pentesilea, held no such dread at the advent of leaving Rome; ever since the French army had come and gone Roman whores and their patrons were rife with the dreaded French Disease. Although a cardinal or two had made advances upon her in the past Pietra had always politely turned them down, which actually was a nicer way of saying that she had only barely escaped their lustful clutches and groping hands. The majority of them were not near as handsome as Cesare Borgia, or his amorous father, Pope Alexander; and even though neither man had ever so much as glanced her way she would have run screaming away from them, as well, no matter how alluring they were. As far as she was concerned most of the cardinals were all bigger whores than the whores they patronized, and tended to their carnal pleasures with more religious fervor than they ever employed within the walls of the Basilica.

There were two whom she did allow herself to fantasize about, however; there was the blond wonder boy—Alessandro Farnese—who didn't do whores at all. He was like any bookkeeper, however—as boring as he was handsome and equally content with his ledger books as he was with his dutiful mistress, Lady Silvia Ruffini. Yet Pietra found that to be the most endearing thing about him; if ever she could gain such a man's attention who was not choking under the collar of a cleric's robes she would happily marry him, if asked, before a cock could complete his first crow at the morning sun.

The other was Cardinal Ascanio Sforza. That one sent a little shiver of lust through Pietra that made her lady parts go all tingly and wet at just the thought of his mouth and that delicious little knowing smirk of his. He had a way of talking to everyone as if they were maggots under his boot-heel, yet with that ever amused smirk on his face that always made Pietra wish that she was in on the joke. However, Cardinal Sforza didn't do whores, either; he was more than content to fuck a fine assortment of his own beautiful cousins, who came from far and near to entertain and be entertained by him.

Pietra looked at the two forlorn women in the carriage and felt nothing for their homesickness; she managed a demure and compassionate smile at them both then took to staring silently out of the small carriage window as she lost herself happily in her own impossible fantasies and hoped that there was at least one good-looking man or two of means in Nepi that would help bring some of her more doable fantasies to life.

Some four hours later they were traveling up Via Cassia and making the turn to Via Amerina when the carriage suddenly stopped. Ersilio, the coachman, knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Lucrezia opened the door and popped her head out.

"Sorry to stop so suddenly, my Lady, just wanted to apologize for the condition of these roads and let you know that we should be another hour, or just over, getting up the cliff there. Would my Lady desire a walkabout to stretch her legs before we continue or tend to any delicate needs?"

"I think I would like to stretch my legs a bit—thank you, Ersilio."

Ersilio held the door for her as she exited and then received Giovanni from Miracella.

"Miracella...Pietra...wouldn't you like to stretch your legs, ladies?"

"No, thank you, my Lady..." Miracella answered her absently.

"Well, I would..." said Pietra as she hopped out with a hand from Ersilio and gave him a knowing smile as she cut her eyes at him; he ignored her and went to tend to his horses. "I'm glad we're not making this journey at night," she said then as she looked around at the ominous oak forests that surrounded the cliffs they would soon be disappearing into.

"Hence our early departure..." Lucrezia said with a tired sigh as they both looked up the cliff where they could see the castle on the hilltop and its impressive towers off in the distance "Ersilio?"

"Yes, my Lady?" he asked as he walked back around to her.

"What is that lake there?" she pointed to the other side of the road, where the lowlands met the shore.

"Lake Trasimeno, my Lady."

"I'm glad it is winter—Our Holy Father has seen fit to send me to a mosquito haven—malaria must run rampant here in summer..." she said disgustedly as she looked out across, what she deemed as, the beautiful killer lake. "The castle should have been further away, I think."

"What say you, my Lady? Further away? I hazard to ask, where?" Pietra asked her with an intrigued grin.

"Rome would have been nice," Lucrezia answered, her voice sounding as far away as her gaze beyond the lake. Pietra let out a hearty laugh. "Come now, my Lady—we will be way up there..." she took Lucrezia by the shoulders and turned her away from the lake to face the hillside again, "the mosquitoes might as well be down here sucking on olive skins, for I have a remedy, my Lady."

"Really? What?"

"I have a cousin in Spain who got her hands on a plant her village healer pilfered straight off the docks from a cargo ship of Colombo himself...when he came back from his second trip to the New World. "

"Go on..." Lucrezia prompted her, more than intrigued.

"It's a type of grass, my Lady...produces a lovely scent that smells of lemons...and you can extract an oil from it and add it to candle wax—wards mosquitoes clear away."

"Grass, you say?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"And do you possess any of this miraculous herb?"

"I do, my Lady, and my cousin taught me how to make the candles, as well."

"Then you must show me, Pietra—I would love to have the castle filled up with them," Lucrezia said with a faint smile.

"Of course, my Lady," Pietra beamed at her, happy that she was able to elicit even that tiny smile from her lady, the first she'd seen since the poor girl had returned to Rome.

Ersilio approached them then. "My Lady, we should resume now—the Governor awaits, after all and we want to be at the castle before the sun begins to set..." he suggested delicately.

Lucrezia looked around at her retinue: three hundred cavaliers ahead of her, three hundred behind, mounted and waiting to proceed; seven more carriages between them, carrying her other ladies, household staff, and stable attendants then gave a little sigh. "Yes, onward we must go..."

Once they were settled in the carriage Lucrezia fell silent again. Pietra had always been fearful of the girl's father and brothers, and the lady Vannozza, who was one to be careful around, as well, but she had always found Lucrezia to be a fair and compassionate employer. Certainly there had been rumours: that she had a terrible mean streak and once tried to kill her brother Juan with a chandelier—but not many would have faulted her had she succeeded—he was a rake and a rapist and a man of foul disposition, with a dark heart and soul; then there were the ones that she had worked witchcraft when she dispelled the poison from her father's body and saved his very life; and that she was the one who tried to poison King Frederigo, then the Prince of Naples, and Djem, the handsome blackamoor. And then there were the very worst rumours, regarding her and her brother, Cesare.

Pietra believed none of them and was often ribbed viciously when she defended her lady's name to some of the other servants. But she had never witnessed any untoward behavior between the two siblings with her own eyes and until she did she would hold off on that particular charge. She'd had a brother herself that she had been very close to and knew, very well, how it felt to have people misinterpret the relationship, for his lady friends had always been jealous of their closeness and often made snide remarks directly to Pietra's face. They were so very wrong and out of place; Pietra had lost her temper once and slapped the face of one of his paramours, very deservedly, for uttering such filth at her. But it was of no matter anymore, for her beloved brother had been killed trying to defend her and their family against the monstrous French soldiers when they invaded Rome.

She tried to put the thought of her own brother and his sad fate out of her head and looked at her lady, now seated across from her, again looking woeful and resigned as she gazed out through the carriage window. Pietra often wondered, as a matter of fact, how it was that the girl had the same Borgia blood running through her veins yet managed to be as sweet and caring as she was. And now she was widowed and banished from Rome, for what possible reason Pietra had no idea, though there was plenty of conjecture emanating from the carriages behind them. Pietra hoped to catch her lady's eyes and give her a little reassuring smile, but Lucrezia was lost in her own thoughts and heartbreak and continued to stare out at the dense oak forest as they carriage bumped along on the rough, horrible road and up the stream-laden cliffs to lonely Nepi.

When they finally arrived through the castle gates over an hour later, the governor and the whole village was there to greet Lucrezia with the keys to the village. The courtyard was awash in colors of gold, red and blue flags, but the dress of the lords, ladies and locals was dark and somber in the manner of mourning for their new governor's departed Prince. And of course there were the Priors, one young priest in particular who smiled at her warmly as he accompanied the governor when they approached her carriage to help her out of it.

"Your Highness...Giancarlo di Tosoni, at your service," her paternal host bowed at her.

"None of that, dear Don di Tosoni, for I am a princess no longer," she said when she arose from her curtsey at him. The man was instantly won over by her humbleness.

"On behalf of all those present here this evening, please accept our sincere condolences on the loss of your dear Prince Alfonso, my Lady." He bowed at her again.

"Thank you so much, one and all..." she said as she looked out to the crowd.

"Allow me to introduce Cardinal Pietro Bembo..."

The young cardinal found it hard to dispel the smile from his handsome face but managed it long enough to proceed with the formality of giving his sincere but brief sympathy before his face erupted in that warm and intriguing smile again.

"Ah, Cardinal Bembo—I know a plant when I see one," Lucrezia said through her discerning gaze upon him.

"My Lady is as clever as she is beautiful," he bowed at her again.

"Not as clever as Our Holy Father is often times predictable, Cardinal Bembo."

He gave her a little nod of mirthful recognition at being so easily found out. "Our Holy Father loves his daughter and has simply dispatched me to see to your comfort and to assist you in your duties should you have the need, my Lady."

"Thank you, Cardinal Bembo, you are appreciated. But you must know that I am a connoisseur of smiles and if we are to get along without scandal you must stop inflicting the particular one at me that is upon your face right now, " Lucrezia warned him seriously.

Bembo was unable to oblige her.

"My Lady," Don di Tosoni interrupted them delicately, "it is our custom to welcome a dignitary such as yourself, and also as our new governor, by honoring you with a carnival. We hope that you will not take offense at our desire and allow us to delay the proceeding until next Friday and through the second week of your tenancy here and then we shall intrude not again upon your period of mourning."

"Thank you, Don di Tosoni, I find your custom and your warm regard most pleasing—I am truly honored."

The crowd cheered at her response.

"May I have a word?" she asked him them.

"Of course, my Lady..." Don di Tosoni presented her properly to the crowd.

"Thank you again, one and all, for your warm welcome. I do not have any great words to say except that I honor the position you have bestowed upon me with the greatest humility; it is my endeavor to get to know you, one and all, as my extended and appreciated family, and serve you with all of the love and fairness I find directed at me now—I am...overcome with my desire for devotion to you all and aspire to hold governorship that is worthy of my fine predecessor," she looked to Don di Tosoni and took his hand, "and of you all. Thank for your kind indulgence and your most appreciated welcome to this fine keep and your beautiful comune."

Don di Tosoni then handed her the keys to the village which Lucrezia accepted graciously; she kissed them even as she blew the kiss to the assembled villagers and gave a humble curtsey, to which the crowd cheered wildly. Don di Tosoni had a time trying to quiet them but finally managed it.

"And now we shall have the Benediction and then release our Lady to her rest," he announced as he ushered Cardinal Bembo forward to give it.

* * *

Back at Castel Sant'Angelo, in Vannozza dei Cattanei's apartment, her oldest son lay in her bed, still in a deep and fitful sleep even as the sun was setting. She had never seen him so exhausted—or affected—and his obvious state of uneasiness was more alarming than the fears he had given voice to before he left her for the siege at Forli.

Cesare awoke with a start as he was roused by his mother, searching desperately for a blade under the pillow that was not there.

"Cesare? My love..."

His vision cleared slowly through groggy eyes and for a moment he was disoriented enough to not know what day it was; he looked away from his mother to the window and could not tell if the golden glow of the horizon was that of sunrise or sunset. He looked back at Vannozza. "Mother?"

"Yes, my love?" Her smile was full of concern.

"What..."

"You have been asleep since noon today, my love...we are about to be late for dinner with your father."

Then it all came rushing back to him: his sister was gone. He frowned his displeasure at his mother but said nothing more.

"Cesare, what on God's earth is it, my son? My heart breaks for you yet I know not why..."

Cesare's features softened a bit as he took his mother's cheek into his hand and kissed it. "Bad dreams, mother, that is all." He sat up then and buried his face in his own hands and tried to wipe his grogginess away, then took a deep breath before he released himself. "Dinner, hmm?" he addressed her absently.

"Yes, my love."

"Then I must go refresh myself and change..." he got out of the bed and headed for the door.

"Cesare..." his mother called to him worriedly. He stopped and turned to face her again. "I love you." He walked back to her and gave her another kiss upon her cheek and a strong hug full of his own love and appreciation.

"I love you, mother; do not be stressed—I'm just tired. I shall take to my bed directly after dinner and catch up my sleep, that is all..."

Vannozza was not reassured but stilled her tongue; desiring not to ruin her son's disposition further she simply smiled and nodded at him and then he left her.

Just over an hour later the three of them were seated in Rodrigo's dining room. There was tension in the air that was palpable and it was coming directly from Vannozza's two men, but mainly Cesare, who sat reclined in his seat in obstinate repose, glaring at his obtuse father, who was busy savoring his first sip of wine.

"Ah! That is indeed divine—We were absolutely parched...it has been a day," Rodrigo sighed heavily through closed eyes after his second long sip.

"So..." Vannozza began as the first course of their meal was set before them, "I see that La Bella dispensed with the artist and has decided upon a nobleman..."

"Yes, yes..." Rodrigo smiled agreeably as he dug into his poached pears.

"And they are to be married at the end of this month coming..."

"Umm," Rodrigo cleared his palate with another sip of wine, "yes, yes indeed. What of it, my love? Do you plan to be in attendance?" he joked. Vannozza endured his insensitivity with a coy smile.

"I would, I think, if our dear Lucrezia was invited back to Rome to attend, as well..." she tried him. Cesare sat up in his seat properly then and cast at steady gaze at his father in anticipation of his reply.

Rodrigo became aware of them both fully, for the first time since he'd sat down at the table and gave them each his scornful frown. "What is this?" he demanded, immediately angered. "She is _not_ invited and you well know why," he fumed at Vannozza through a low hiss of his voice.

Cesare banged a fist upon the table, rattling everything upon it thunderously. "And you do so enjoy banning people from weddings, do you not, Holy Father..." he leveled at him.

"You are both...ARGH! Will you actually sit here and ruin Our dinner?" Rodrigo banged his own fist upon the table.

"Will you actually sit here and ruin a life?" Cesare shot back at him venomously.

Rodrigo shot up from the table in an angry huff and leaned threateningly across the table at his son. "We love you, Cesare, but you will be still and take care; your sister is not banished from Rome and she will return one day—when the smoke has cleared and her good name has been restored!"

"You mean when you've successfully enjoined her to another alliance that will survive the drying of the ink..." Vannozza said quietly and coolly from her seat, not looking at either one of them as she played at the pears upon her own twice-rattled plate and awaiting its third assault.

"You know..." Rodrigo narrowed his eyes at his son and lowered his voice, trying desperately to calm himself, "We know that look upon your face, do We not, Vannozza?" he said to her while never breaking his gaze into Cesare's eyes. Vannozza looked up at them both then in great alarm. "Your wedding night was one of epic proportions, We have heard...We think you should make haste and return to your wife in France, for an...encore...shall We say? Which is obviously most overdue...either that or avail yourself of a fine Roman whore."

Vannozza's mouth dropped open at Rodrigo's insult upon their son. "Rodrigo! That is _enough_..." she said in complete outrage.

"No, that is not enough, for _you _will restrict your concerns about your sister to your aid in helping Us find a suitable husband for her _and_ the most lucrative for Ourselves and stay out of Our other affairs—and hers. Are We understood?"

Cesare only continued to glower at his father.

"ARE WE UNDERSTOOD!"

Cesare kicked his chair away from the table, still shooting daggers at his father with his eyes. "Yes," he managed to get out.

"YES, WHAT?"

"Yes. Holy. Father." He stormed out of the dining room.

"Rodrigo..." Rodrigo leveled a wild, raging gaze upon her that startled and frightened Vannozza, but she held her steady composure.

"_You_...be gone from me, Vannozza!"

Vannozza dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin and then rose quietly and slowly from her chair. The scathing look in her eyes directed his way had the desired effect upon him.

"Oh, my love," he whispered anguishedly at her as he walked around the table and made to reach for her; she allowed his embrace but was immobile as a stone fortress. "Why do you both perturb me both so in this matter? A finer soldier there has never been, or diplomat; my ally in all things—my son shall be a prince among men, am I to have my way; but he does effectively try my patience where his sister is concerned—I will not _have it_, Vannozza, and you must all trust that what I am doing now is for the greater good—not just my own!" His rage was quiet and personal, for he wanted no other ears to hear it.

"He loves her, Rodrigo, as do I..."

"And you think that I do not?"

"Of course you do; and I see your point, but you might endeavor to make it, sometimes, in a manner more...compassionate, shall we say? He did not deserve that cruelty, and you know it."

"What shall I do then? Tell me that..." he harrumphed.

"First, you might find it advantageous to apologize. Secondly, you might remember how much he has always loved and desired to please you, even as he endeavored to be his own man; remember all of the things he's done for you and continues to do for you and how little he truly asks of you in return; thirdly, remember what he asks for, when he does—and for whom...very rarely and truly for himself, Rodrigo. Remember those things and rethink your decision. Whatever your final answer is we will both respect—but approach it from a truly different perspective, yes? Remember, my love, season that decision with your apology first—you may be amazed at what it garners for you in the end and for all of us."

"Oh, Vannozza," he took her hand and kissed it longingly, "what would I do without you?" he cooed at her.

"You would be fucked." She withdrew her hand from him abruptly and left.

* * *

"Your were there, Miracella—what did you see?" asked Ersilio as they sat around the huge kitchen dining table.

After the benediction the villagers dispersed back to their own homes, all of them abuzz about the Borgia daughter who was nothing like the rumours that preceded her implied. Not all were as completely won over as Don di Tosoni, but even those that were not had to admit that the girl, though inexperienced, was clearly likeable.

Only fifty cavaliers remained at the castle; having dutifully and safely escorted their charges, the rest turned around and headed back for Rome the same night.

Lucrezia had taken a tour of the castle with her staff to assess what she needed, which would be more beds and linens for the staff, and clothes for Giovanni; the kitchen was well appointed with cooking utensils, even a nice selection of breads, cheeses and wine, but a trip to market would be in order the next day. The cavaliers had a whole tower to themselves with quarters and a kitchen; the captain had assured her that they had their own system clearly in place regarding cooking duties and that her staff was not responsible for their needs in that regard. They, too, had need of more supplies and her list was growing ever larger as she tallied up what was needed and the funds she would have to secure from her father in order to fulfill them. When it was all finally done she dismissed Miracella and the rest to their own devices; she spent the rest of her evening alone with Giovanni and took to her own bed as soon as he fell asleep.

Miracella and the rest of the staff, some twenty-five other men and women, had worked out their own sleeping arrangements and explored the ins and outs of the castle for themselves; a group of them, which included all of the stable boys, the cook and several coachmen, left the castle to go and explore the village taverns with a stern warning from Ersilio to mind their manners and their drink. He was looking at Miracella then, as were the nine others around the table, in rapt attention, waiting for her answer.

"I saw nothing..." she said uneasily.

"I heard His Excellence killed the boy..." said one maid, named Donatella.

"I heard that his Captain Corella did it..." said another, Lavinia, conspiratorially.

"I heard that the Prince's own uncle planted an assassin in Rome..." the shy little cook's apprentice, Tiberio, whispered at them.

"Come, Miracella, you must have seen something! What was Cesare's disposition when you went to the Lady?" asked Ersilio.

"Angry...as always; I've never had an audience with him where he was not scowling at me," Miracella shivered as she thought of the look on his face as he waited for her to leave that night in Lucrezia's room; if looks could kill she would surely have been a dead woman already, but she did not voice that opinion out loud to them.

"I heard that she had a terrible quarrel with His Holiness and he banished her here as a punishment..." another coachman announced loudly after he'd taken a long slug of his ale.

"You might want to quiet down there, Tomas, you don't want the Lady to hear you, eh?" Ersilio told him gruffly.

"Ah, she's way away in her lonely little bed..." he said as he looked wistfully up to the ceiling, "and we're all the way down here—suck my nutsack..." Tomas grabbed his crotch and gave it a vicious yet enthusiastic tug and let out a vile drunken belch at Ersilio. Donatella reached over and gave him a hearty slap to the head, with a frown on her pretty face.

"Ouch, wench!"

"Keep it up and see if you don't find yourself tumbling headfirst down one of those lovely ravines, you prick," Ersilio threatened.

"Both of you mind yourselves..." said Maria sternly, the oldest female maid in the group who'd managed to hold them all in a maternal sway, "or I shall tell the Lady to replace the both of you."

Ersilio gave a grunt of disgust at Tomas; Tomas threatened to say something more but looked at Maria and knew that her threat was not an empty one. "Off to bed for me, then..." he grumbled as he made to rise and gave a wink at Donatella.

"You keep your arse in that chair until your roommate comes back from the village—he can scoop you up from the floor, which is where you'll be by the time he gets back," Maria ordered him; she didn't want him drunk and wandering about alone, for that would have been sure trouble. Tomas flipped his middle finger at her but stayed firmly rooted in his seat. The others around the table laughed at him and continued their gossip.

"Well, I heard he's planning another betrothal—and that poor boy is not even cold in his grave, yet..." Pietra said sorrowfully.

"I heard that there was an inquest—at the behest of the House of Aragon and that they wanted to level the charge of murder against His Excellence, but had not enough evidence..."

"What? No! And from whom did you hear that, Ersilio?" Maria asked him.

"The Prince's valet...Rustighello..."

"What?" asked the identical twin coachemen, Cristoforo and Vicenzo in unison.

"You mean that delicious little blond Neapolitan delight?" Donatella asked lustily.

"You need to throw a bucket on that," warned Tomas drunkenly, who happened to be Donatella's lover du jour.

"I saw him, packing his few things for his return to Naples..." Ersilio told them all.

"Well, what did he say?" asked Lavinia, on the edge of her seat.

"He saw me as I looked in to his room; I asked him where he was off to and he said, 'Back to Naples and not a day too soon for my liking.' I asked him what was his distress and he said, 'There is no distress...anymore—the inquest is over and I'm going home to the murderers I know.'"

They all broke out in scandalized laughter, except for two. Miracella, who was not surprised to know that he had gone as much as she was hurt that he had not sought her out to say farewell, for they had grown close in their short time together and had been intimate with each other; and Pietra, who didn't find the remark funny at all. The two women looked at each in silent solidarity as they endured the rest of the evening until time to go to bed.


	17. Of Want and Wanting

I do not own "Six Fragments for Atthis" by Sappho.

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 17 Of Want and Wanting

* * *

It was late Sunday night; Vannozza had indulged in a comforting bath and was waiting for Rodrigo to conclude his day and join her in his bedchamber. Although her bath had indeed relaxed her weary bones a bit, she found that she was restless with worry: over Cesare, who had taken his banners with only minimal pomp and circumstance and then departed immediately thereafter for Forli; and over Lucrezia, alone in Nepi with only the barest retinue consisting mostly of a few servants and a small contingent of cavaliers. To make herself feel closer to her daughter she had been sitting up in Rodrigo's bed reading the poems of Sappho and had just finished her daughter's favorite, _"Six Fragments for Atthis"_, that she had read to her darling girl so often at bedtime that Lucrezia had learned it by heart by the time she was four years old. What a little wonder she had been, too, sitting in Vannozza's lap, with the family gathered around, astounding them with her seeming ability to read the words from the book, knowing every line and inflection when actually it was from the memory of her mother's many recitals and explanations of the lovely verses. Vannozza snapped the book shut.

"_...__I prayed one word; I want._

_Someone, I tell you, will remember us, _

_Even in another time..." _

Vannozza whispered the end of the poem and Lucrezia's very favorite lines softly to herself and then tears came to her eyes; she got out of the bed and went to Rodrigo's desk in the anteroom, sat down and gathered parchment, ink pot, and quill to write her child a letter; she wiped her tears vigorously away lest they drop to the page and smear the ink then took a deep breath to compose herself; before she could even begin the salutation her tears came again and she threw down the quill and buried her face in her hands. As she sobbed into them she determined that she must keep that first missive short and bright; there was much she wanted to tell her daughter, but most of it would have to wait until they saw each other again and could speak in private; and of course she could never reveal what Cesare had told her about Rufio and his initial plans to eliminate her husband, neither on paper nor from her own lips—she had promised her son that it was their most inviolable secret.

The two of them were so close and their devotion to each other had always been a source of comfort to Vannozza; she knew that Cesare had always confided things to his sister that he shared with no others, not even her, and Vannozza understood and respected that—she couldn't know everything about her childrens' lives—no parent was ever supposed to; with her sons she had just always been honored, especially after they reached puberty, to be let into their lives at all. She was glad that her son had someone he trusted that he could confide in and didn't begrudge her daughter one bit that she was that one. But Vannozza feared, just as Cesare had, that the revelation about his truest desire for Alfonso was one that their relationship could very possibly not survive.

Vannozza comported herself and took another deep breath, then finally began to write.

* * *

"Ah...my love..." Rodrigo said with a heavy sigh as he came into the room.

It had been quite sometime later before she heard his apartment door open and shut and she was just finishing up her letter.

"At last your day is over," Vannozza smiled up at him and then received his sweet kiss upon her lips.

"Yes...finally. What are you about, my love?"

"A letter to our dear daughter...and tomorrow I shall write one to Gioffre; I had a lonely moment here waiting for you, missing my babies, all grown and so far away from me now."

"Yes, but you have me, my love...and we shall comfort each other, hmm?"

"Yes," she smiled at him. "I am almost done—my signature and the wax and then I shall join you..."

Rodrigo gave her a lusty smile before he took one of her hands and kissed the back of it, then began to undress as he made his way to his bed.

* * *

Quite some hours later, the two happily familiar lovers lay in each others arms, spent and satisfied.

"Yes, my love, to be with you is to truly be home," he murmured at her as he hugged her tightly to him.

"And for me, my love. What was it that detained you so long this evening?"

"A special meeting with the consistory—they are aggrieved over the appointment of the six _cardinale nipote, _it seems," Rodrigo informed her with a devilish little chuckle.

"Well, of course," Vannozza's amused smile warmed him.

"Of course. Their displeasure matters not, it is done. I gave them audience and heard their gripes until my ears bled—look, do you see?" he turned his ear to her in jest.

Vannozza's hearty laughter was then enjoined by his own; soon their laughter subsided and Vannozza sank back into seriousness.

"Oh? What is this, my love?" he cooed at her.

"I must return to my palazzo now, we both know it; the inns are doing brisk business...I have ledgers to balance." Vannozza turned away from him.

"Hmm? What is this? Why do I detect a note of eagerness in your voice?" he asked her suspiciously even as he hugged her tighter and kissed the back of her neck.

"Whatever do you mean, Rodrigo?"

"Does _Theo_ still await you? Is that why you're so anxious to get back to your 'ledgers', hmm?"

"Rodrigo, stop it; Theo went home long ago..." Vannozza smiled her reprimand at him over her shoulder.

"Hmm..." he growled his displeasure at her. "You do realize that when you go I shall be alone, myself, do you not?"

"You and Cesare have a kingdom to secure—work will be your mistress..." Vannozza teased him.

"Oh! You imp! Work can't do this...nor does it feel as sweet..." he murmured as he made to enter her.

"Oh no..." she chided him as she pulled away, "save it for Vittoria..." she giggled at him.

"Ah! You dare to refuse me?" he gave her rump a playful swat.

"Oh! You didn't!"

"I did, my Lady, and I will happily do it again..." he threatened her seductively. "How did you know about her, anyway? Vittoria..."

"Oh please, Rodrigo; her disguise was only fair, just barely passable; but her manner gave her dead away—and those slender, curvaceous hips—her jerkin and breeches only accentuated them more. Besides, I'd seen her before, in the employ of Lucrezia Normanni..."

"Felice della Rovere's mother?" he asked her, totally shocked.

"Yes."

"And what possible business could you have had with her?"

"It was sometime ago, my love, and a small matter of a mistaken invitation to her salon where she was hosting Michelangelo himself to show one of his latest works."

"Well," Rodrigo harrumphed incredulously, "how did _that_ go?"

"She was more than gracious to me but I heard later that she had her lady, the one who sent out the invitations, whipped within an inch of her life. Felice was not yet gone to Savona; Vittoria was one of their maids."

"Well," Rodrigo said, flabbergasted.

"I must have made some impression on Felice, I dare say."

"What do you mean?"

"The girl sought me out, not long after Lucrezia married Alfonso..."

"What? Why? As far as I know we Borgia are as much her enemy as we are that of her abominable father," he groused.

"We are; but the girl was distraught, Rodrigo..."

"All of Rome used to kiss her arse—"

"Once maybe, Rodrigo, but your ascent to the Papal throne caused her to be driven away from her home and the bosom of her loving family at the insistence of Giuliano; her Savonese family holds her in no such regard and neither her own husband."

"What?"

"She had been married off to a Savonese politician of some sort, you see, one who benefits her father's ambitions—you know how it is done..."

"Vannozza..." he grumbled his warning at her.

"I am not leveling a judgment, Rodrigo, calm yourself. The girl's foray into marriage has been loveless and as disagreeable as that of our darling daughter's first marriage, it seems—he is a brute worse than Giovanni Sforza, if that is even possible," she said disgustedly. "The girl secreted herself back to Rome for succor and counsel with her mother only to find that the woman had died."

"Oh, my..." The sad revelation genuinely pained Rodrigo.

"Yes, indeed. She had no one to turn to and she would not see her father..."

"Was there no one in the girl's family that—"

"She had no one to turn to, Rodrigo, save for her cousin that she swore to secrecy regarding her presence in the city, nothing but a child, herself." Vannozza assured him emphatically.

"Humph...consigned herself to the fact that her father is a hateful, miserable little prick, has she? Why did she seek you out?"

"She said her mother told her about me after that faux pas over Michelangelo; she said only that her mother told her that I knew her father during a time when he was kinder..."

"Say no more about that, Vannozza," Rodrigo warned.

"I'm only telling you what she told me. The child was a wreck, Rodrigo, which was so unlike the girl that used to practically own Rome. It was heartbreaking...and reminded me of our dear Lucrezia's hellish experience."

"So what happened?"

"I lent her my more than sympathetic ear and was surprised that she allowed my motherly embrace...I...counseled her...in the ways of self-defense; and then I helped secure her secret passage back to Savona. That poor girl—I often wonder how she is doing."

"If she wants truly to be well she'll poison the fucker or cut off his prick while he sleeps," Rodrigo harrumphed. "Giuliano is a most uncaring father and that's putting it mildly. He didn't need to send her away, I would never have harmed her."

"Well, you and I know that, but his hatred of you clouds his judgment in all things Borgia, it seems."

"Hmm..." Rodrigo contemplated her words with a frown upon his face. "Yes, as does that which he coveted once, even more than the Papal throne..."

"We will not speak of that, remember?" Vannozza pulled his arms tighter about her. "I am where I always wanted to be, my love."

"Must you leave me so soon, then?" he nuzzled into her more, pleading her with his body as well as with his voice.

"Ah, my love, you do make an excellent case," she purred at him over her shoulder, "but I do have a life outside of these Vatican walls, Rodrigo...business to attend to; and thank God, for my worry over the children is never-ending—and for you." She looked back to her pillow and nestled even closer into him. "And while you may receive me with these loving open arms," she raised one of his hands away from her breast and kissed the back of it, "I am ever held under the scornful and reproachful eyes of the consistory. If only..." she trailed off wistfully.

"If only what, my love?"

"Do you still wish that you could be a peasant in a garden with a pitchfork?" she asked him softly, thinking back to a tender moment they'd shared that seemed as if it had happened a lifetime ago.

Rodrigo took her chin into his hand and tilted it up so that her gaze would meet his. "If it would erase that frown upon your brow, my love; if it would ensure that our family would know safety and peace—yes, that would still be my wish..." he twisted her neck around gently so that her lips could meet his tender kiss. "But I have another, my love," he whispered at her when his lips released hers, "more than fulfillable and ready to be granted upon you..."

"Again?" she asked him dreamily as she received him in ecstatic and exquisite surrender.

"And again...and again...and again..." he growled as his body gave hers his further assurance.


	18. To Rights

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 18 To Rights

* * *

_My Dearest, Darling Lucrezia,_

_You have been gone only a day and my heart aches as if I have not seen you in years. I shall not dwell on that, for it is not my intent for this letter to cause you tears, my love._

_There is so much to say that, unfortunately, must wait to be said when we can again speak in person. You must have my assurance that Our Holy Father had good reason to gift your new home to you, and I thank goodness that it was ready for your arrival. I understand that once one makes the journey up through the treacherous ravines the village itself is a little gem. I do hope that you will find some beauteous feature that you may enjoy enough to take your comfort in, my darling._

_How is my precious little Giovanni? I do miss his smiling, happy face, but take comfort in the fact that you are both together and unperturbed. I appealed to His Holiness to reconsider your attendance at La Bella's wedding, but your safety and regard is ever the issue, my love, do not doubt Him on that matter. I will not be attending, but I'm sure La Bella will send a record of her happy day to share with you._

_Your dear brother took his banners early today without great ado at all and rode straight to Forli immediately thereafter. Of course, it was in great deference to your Dear Alfonso that he made no celebration, but even had your brother not so honored our late Prince, I believe he would have gone about it the same way. You are both such minimalists, my love; with Cesare everything is ever so business-like; dispatched methodically and with little fuss before he tears away at breakneck speed on to the next campaign. I understand that time is of the essence in all things, but your brother is a marvel. He will be back in a few weeks to escort the French ambassador from Saint Spirito into Rome for negotiations with the Holy Father. _

_And you! Why on God's earth did allow yourself such an almost non-existent retinue, my love? It is not a criticism, dearest, just truly a question. Certainly funding was not the issue; whatever your reason I hope you will impart it to me, sooner rather than later._

_As for me, my love, I return to my own palace in the morning and back to the business of managing my business. There's not much else to say about that other than I look forward to the company of my ledger books and all of the small mundane tasks that will take up my days seeing to the inn and my staff while I am yet missing you and your brothers. I shall write to your brother in Squillace next. I have heard of late that our little Gioffre has had himself quite a growth spurt and has very much come into his own; I have also heard that he has his hands full with his Sancia, but not enough to his liking—and that she remains ever spirited. The difference now, it seems, is that he has the greater ability to see to his liking elsewhere, and has. Bravo to him, I say, between you and I; we know how awfully she betrayed him and with whom—I fear that there is simply no coming back from that. I shall be greatly relieved to hear from him and will share any news of him to you in my next letter._

_At the very least I shall look forward to seeing you all here in Rome for Christmas, save for whatever political exploits your brother Cesare may be involved in that would prevent his coming. Until that joyous day, my love, I hope that you and Giovanni are well and that you will write to me soon._

_Ever and all of my love,_

_Mama_

_P.S. I have enclosed Burchart's transcript of the inquest, which is of course, public record. He was kind enough to rush a copy for me so that I would be able to send it with this letter. When I see you again I will give you your dear brother's account, which you can imagine, is not one I would prefer to put to parchment._

_His Holiness asks that I remember His love to you and sends a kiss to you and little Giovanni._

_Ever your loving Mother,_

_Giovanna de Candia, Contessa dei Cattanei_

* * *

It was a bright sunny morning and the end of Lucrezia's first week in Nepi. The carnival in her honor was to begin at sundown and the whole town was abuzz with the excitement carnival always elicited in adults and children alike. She was in the main garden watching Giovanni at play with his teething ring on a pallet under a canopy, and going over some matters of import with Don di Tosoni and the ever-attentive Cardinal Bembo, when Pietra came out and announced a messenger to her.

"My Lady—a message has arrived for you..."

A young man came forward then, and produced a large parchment from his pouch with a wax seal that she instantly recognized as her mother's.

"My Lady—from your mother, the Contessa," the young man bowed at her as he held it out to her.

"Thank you," she smiled warmly at the lad. "Pietra..."

"Yes, my Lady?" Pietra rushed forward to her.

"Take this young man to the kitchen and give him refreshment, then prepare his accommodation, for I shall send my response back with him soon."

"Yes, my Lady." Pietra took the boy away as she was told.

"Ah, news from home—always heartwarming, I'm sure," said the cardinal as he approached her, ever smiling.

"Yes, I'm sure," Lucrezia responded, trying to quell her excitement over the missive that was burning a hole into her palm as she tried to keep her mind on her business with Don di Tosoni and off of the cardinal's smile, which so disquieted her.

"My Lady, we can finish this discussion later, if you wish..." di Tosoni began graciously.

"No; thank you for your kind consideration, but let us finish, for I seek to address this dispute with the two families today and have the air cleared; it is my wish that they might be free to enjoy their peace and the spirit of the festivities I am to be humbly honored by this evening."

As ever Don di Tosoni was taken over by her humbleness and then, her evident dedication to service even before self. He continued his counsel over the dispute between two families of Spoleto and Nepi, over land left to them by a deceased uncle. After some time, when all was clear to her they prepared to go to the town hall and take their meeting. She went to her son and took him up in her arms.

"Alright, my love, mama must go now...be a good little boy," she kissed his plump cheek and set him back down. "Do not be out much longer with him Miracella, for he should have his nap soon."

"Yes, my Lady," Miracella curtsied at her.

Lucrezia kept her letter in her possession and during her first act as governor and found that it gave her great comfort, and helped to dispel the nervousness that had been gnawing at her insides over the anxiety of handling her first official mediation successfully. Finally it was done and the two families were brought to happy disposition; Lucrezia had met her goal to see them to their peace and word spread quickly through town of her fair and capable administration. When she arrived back at the castle there was Giovanni to see to and a meeting with her maids, who were preparing sweet treats to supply for one of the concessions at the carnival; when she finally had a private moment alone there were only two hours left to her before sundown. Lucrezia dispatched Giovanni to Miracella and then stole away to her room and locked the door; she settled herself upon her bed and opened the first oversized parchment which contained two smaller sealed ones. She opened her mother's letter and read it voraciously.

So warming to heart it was to read her dear mother's loving words, Lucrezia had read the letter three times. She had always found her comfort in beautiful words written upon the page: such as the poetry of Ovid and Sappho; and the epic writers, Homer being her favorite, but Lucrezia found that there was no greater treasure than those words written to your very self from someone who loved you.

Her mother's words were as a conversation, flowing and familiar and soothing—as if she was in the very room with her. When she read the paragraph concerning Gioffre she could almost feel her mother leaning conspiratorially into her, hushed of voice and smiling that genteel but wicked little smirk of hers at her. She hugged the letter to her bosom and closed her eyes and imagined the soft caress of her mother's hand against her cheek and tried to keep her tears at bay. Presently, she came back to herself and folded the letter delicately up and gave it a kiss before she finally delved into Burchart's transcript of the inquest.

When she was done it became all so clear to her, her father's intent and the truest reason for her hasty dispatch. It was much to take in and she wanted to read it again, but she needed to ready herself and Giovanni for the carnival. She took the missives to her cassone and locked them up with the key hanging from the gold chain about her neck, vowing to visit them when the night was over and she had her privacy again.

As she gathered a fresh gown and went to the door to unlock it for Pietra, waiting outside to help her dress, she stopped in her tracks and wondered after Cesare; she wondered what he was doing at that exact moment; she hoped that he was well and that his day had been as successful as her own and even more so; she wished that he could not only hear her thoughts, but feel them as well, as much as she wished that she was able to do the same; she hoped that her love for him was felt and not forgotten yet to the tasks at hand that would soon have to eclipse it in order to move forward in his headier and more important endeavors; she knew that it was a necessary thing, for him as well as herself, but not at that moment, not just yet.

She went back to her cassone and unlocked it, then removed a satin kerchief and unfolded it delicately to reveal the blade that Cesare had used to kill Giovanni, as he had promised he would do to any man that would harm her; how profusely he had apologized for not delivering the man's heart to her.

"I know not if the beast did not have one or if it was just that I failed so miserably at anatomy in school..." he had joked her later, to which Lucrezia assured him the bloody blade was ever and more than acceptable as testimony to his love for her and evidence of his promise to her.

She wrapped the blade back up then and kissed the cool satin. "I love you, my Cesare..." she whispered softly, "please be well." She locked the blade away again and rose to commit herself to the rest of her evening.

When the townspeople saw her melancholy under her faint but genuine smile later that evening, they attributed it to the sadness she still evidently carried over the very recent loss of her husband, and their hearts went out to her even more. But the husband she mourned, her truest husband, was alive, and hopefully, well, and seeing to his own administration of the good people of Forli.

* * *

"Countess..." came his deep, gruff, simple greeting as he entered her apartment.

Caterina had been sitting upon her bed reading a letter from her legal counsel when she heard the locks begin to turn and tumble; she thrust her letter under her pillow and rose from the bed.

"So, the Borgia Pope graces me with a meeting, at last," she sneered at him. "Come any closer to me and you shall regret it," she threatened. As the locks tumbled behind him she assumed a defensive stance.

Rodrigo raised a surprised eyebrow and then let out a scornful chuckle. "You are a thing of beauty, madam, but not even if you were the last woman on earth would We touch you in such a manner as you comically suppose." His voice was full of scathing indignation and loathing.

"Rape is not a matter of desire, Borgia, but a matter of power and awful rage..." she hissed at him.

"Ha! And you should know, should you not? Coming from such a fine family of rapists, yourself—your cousin Giovanni comes immediately to mind."

"Liar! How dare you!"

"It is not a lie, madam, your cousin was the most heinous beast in his treatment of Our daughter!" he yelled as he advanced upon her. "And further..." his voice dropped in register to a cold, dangerous growl, "though We may be a man guilty of many sins, We have _never_..." he was directly upon her and took the frightened and transfixed woman's wrists into his grasp, "taken a woman..." he punctuated his adamance with a violent shake of her body, "against her will. And We would not endeavor to lower Ourself to such inglorious, criminal and abominable behavior now, or ever..." Rodrigo thrust Caterina away from him and unceremoniously threw her upon her bed as he walked away from her in disgust. He paced the floor in a rage, unable to look upon her or speak another word.

Caterina collected herself and took hold of a bedpost for support as she watched him with venomous eyes, but with less fear than before; she had heard the rumors and gossip about her cousin over the years to know that Borgia was not lying to her but it had always been a hard fact to accept about him; they had been so close and he had never shown her anything but love; such were the awful dualities of many men, and one she was more than surprised to find the man before her not guilty of in that particular regard. She slowly regained her composure and brought her breathing to a manageable level.

"And your bastard son certainly brought it all to rights, did he not? With your sanction, I'm sure. And now here we are, at war. Could this not have been handled some other way?"

Rodrigo whipped around angrily to face her. "To rights? Death was too good for your cousin, madam."

"Maybe. I am sure the same will be said of you, Borgia, when you are dead and your corpse lies still warm on its slab and all the years after as it rots; even after it turns to dust."

"And you certainly tried your hand at shaping that history, did you not?" he accused her.

"I did not," she replied calmly.

"Ah, hmm..." he chuckled incredulously to himself, "who is the liar now?"

"You have no proof. This so-called trial that awaits me is a farce and a travesty. All of this trumped-up madness to further your ambitions and those of your bastard children," she quietly raged at him.

"I am so _sick_ of that word," he moaned his disgust at her; "Rome is full of bastards; and full of parents who love them. You are a bastard, Countess, or have you forgotten?"

"I am a bastard descended from Nobility," she began haughtily.

"You...are a bastard in jail" he grumbled at her, "deposed of your lands that are being ministered to by one your people have embraced happily. Cesare is a success at Forli..."

"That may be, but where I failed, my brother Gian in Pesaro, will not."

"You should not to be too confidant of that, Countess. You could end this all now—sign the papers releasing your lands and go back to your family; reclaim the son Lorenzo de Medici tries so cruelly to wrest from you and go on with your life," he implored her.

The mention of her hardship over her son caused and involuntary gasp of surprise and heartbreak; she recovered herself quickly and stood straighter before him. "I refuse."

Rodrigo gave a sad shake of his head at her. "Your strength is more than admirable, Countess, but your stubborn defiance is so misplaced," he leveled at her in honest amazement.

"I maintain that this trial is a farce; you have no proof of any involvement by me in the attempts on your life—none. I will triumph in all of my trials in the end, so do as you will."

"As you like then, Countess. Guards!" He shouted out for his release and left her in a huff.


	19. Succor

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 19 Succor

* * *

_Dearest and Most Beloved Mother,_

_Thank you for your swift and loving thoughts of me and our precious Giovanni! I cannot begin to tell you the heights to which my heart soared at receiving your remembrance and soothing assurances, which arrived as if on the wings of a dove; to know that the messenger came bearing word from you was nothing compared to my joy at seeing your wax seal upon the parchment as he released it from his pouch; the love that emanated from it enveloped me immediately, as if you had become flesh and taken me into your very arms. I do miss you so. _

_How are you? Has work brought you the solace that you intended? Has Gioffre answered your letter to him yet? I hope that your days are happy and full and that you ever know that I am with you in spirit. _

_I was much involved in my day and taken up with the task of my pending and first mediation between two families and their contest over a will. You must surely imagine my great agitation at wanting to steal away immediately from one and all to be left alone with your words even as duty and propriety dictated that I do otherwise; and also the great effort it took for me to contain my truest desires in the bargain. As a compromise I held your letter close to me and did not relinquish it, not even during my administration, for it brought me strength and the confidence to persevere. I will report that, because of the wise and appreciated counsel of the former governor, Don di Tosoni, and the promise of your loving words, yet awaiting me, I released two satisfied families to their peace. So dear mother, my second thanks to you._

_It was a busy day, indeed, as the townspeople were, and are still, holding a week-long carnival in my honor that began at sundown that same evening and will end Saturday next. It is their custom and they were gracious enough to ask if I would entertain the notion at all, in light of this being my period of mourning. I found that I could not deny their respectful and heartfelt hospitality. I presented my maids to concession bearing marzipan; baba; Maria's exquisite scorze di arance candite; and Miracella's panforte. _

_It was indeed a beautiful time but my melancholy was true and tangible, dear mother, and I made an appearance only, not even staying long enough to see the first fireworks lit. I had managed a moment alone, only hours before the festivities, to have my first read of your letter and Burchart's report...it was midnight that night before I could visit them again. And now here it is three days later that I am able to sit at my peace and finally write back to you. I have no appointments today and have my freedom—I worked through four mediations yesterday, each and every one a land dispute and most time-consuming, and the only way that I could manage respite from my duties to enjoy this moment._

_I can imagine Cesare's account of the inquest very clearly—just how much did his nostrils flare and blow flame? Enough to torch only the Basilica or all of Rome? I am sure that, no matter his predilection, you alone are responsible for preventing either disaster. Thank you, again, for sending Burchart's transcript to me—I understand very clearly now that which I did not upon my departure from Rome. And yes, we will have much to talk about upon my return home. I will not lament over La Bella's wedding; she is going on to life now, a new one for herself as well as the new one God has seen fit to help her create; I would not spoil her happiness, or mine for her, with negative passions._

_As to the question of my retinue, I know Our Holy Father desires me to be surrounded by two or three hundred courtiers, at least, but it is not my desire to have so many souls here, resentful at being shackled to my grief. In time I will increase the number to one befitting His desire, but the solitude, while oppressive on one hand, is actually quite soothing, on the other, I find. I need this, dear Mother—at least, I will keep telling myself that. _

_In the meantime, I will take comfort in the fact that I have been embraced by the people here. I have my Giovanni and want for nothing myself. I am as content as God will allow me to be. Should he allow me anything more I will be happily surprised, but dare not to hold breath on it._

_There are only a few issues that truly cause my consternation, at the moment. One, I need more clothes for Giovanni; please raid his nursery and send the rest of his wardrobe to me and the funds to buy material for him—there is a lovely shop in the square that I would buy fabrics from for Miracella—she so loves to design and sew his special linens and there are events coming up soon where he should be so appropriately attired. Twenty thousand ducats should be more than enough to set me straight in that regard, with ample left over, for the rest of the year and then some, I would think. Please ask His Holiness to release the funds? I would so appreciate it._

_The other issues are mine to remedy, although I would seek your assistance in the following matter. I find that one in my employ is responsible for more vile rumors about me than the townspeople here, which has greatly surprised me, and caused my great disappointment. He is a coachman in particular, that I would release soon, but I wish to have his replacement vetted and ready to take his place when I do so. Would you recommend one to me that you find to be trustworthy and able to be spared from your own employ? I want no more hires from the Basilica, truth be told. I am most fortunate that the rest of my staff are as loyal as they are, but, one bad apple...you know the rest, dear Mother. Barring any seriously egregious behavior by him that would constitute his immediate dismissal, I would be able to wait for the one you might find acceptable to put forward to me._

_The last issue is one that is surely my own to command. Its name is Cardinal Pietro Bembo. He was sent here by Our Holy Father, and let me just say that, even as I write this, many things in this letter may surely be old news to Him already. _

_The cardinal is pleasant enough and has been most helpful to me in my duties here, but I will say, though he has crossed no physical line of propriety, his smile is a thing of most criminal intent, as sweet as it may appear. He affects me, mother, when I would chose not to be. I limit my interaction as much as is possible, but we are much thrown together; I have told him on more than one occasion that a woman in mourning should not be smiled at in such a manner, but he truly ignores my plea. As it is, and not because of him, I attend to my duties, take my meals in my suite and retire as early as Giovanni allows me. That is the extent of the majority of my days here. I am trying to avoid scandal, for I have had more than enough of that in my life, through my own fault and otherwise. He is most annoying. He is attractive enough: tall, fit; his hair is the fashion of the day, long and spiraled; his hazel eyes are always smiling, his face, as well—everything about him smiles! It is maddening! He would remind me of Cesare if only he was not ever smiling. And how would I command him, you ask? Well, let us say, dear Mother, that I learned much from the village witch during my short stay in Naples. If the cardinal only knew as much he would most definitely inflict his smiles elsewhere._

_Giovanni has just awakened; there is not enough parchment in the world that could contain all that I wish to say to you, but I must go and I really wish to get this on its journey to you. Be well, Mother and know that my love is always with you._

_Ever your loving daughter,_

_La Infelicissima_

* * *

Lucrezia sealed her letter and made haste to the kitchen where her staff was having breakfast.

"Good morning, everyone..." she addressed the group brightly; they all stood at her attention and greeted her.

"No, no, I did not mean to interrupt, please take your seats," she smiled at them. Pietra, would you please give this to the messenger after he has his breakfast?"

"Yes, my Lady, he should be down any minute now."

"Thank you."

"I am here, my Lady—I would be happy to go now," the young man assured her.

"No, have your sustenance, please..."

"A loaf of bread, a canteen of your delicious mineral water—that is all that I need, my Lady, though your generosity is much appreciated," he bowed at her.

Lucrezia handed him her letter. "Tell the Contessa fifty ducats to you from my funds, do you understand? If I had it I would give it you myself."

"Thank you,my Lady, and my pleasure." He gave her another bow and waited as Pietra gathered a loaf of bread and filled his canteen, then made haste to his horse.

"Allow me, my Lady," came a voice from behind her—it was Cardinal Pietro Bembo; he stopped the young man and paid him out of his own pocket. "And another fifty, young man, for so pleasing our Lady and for your most admirable diligence."

"Thank you, Your Eminence," he gave him a bow and then left them.

Bembo turned his attention, and his smiling face, back to Lucrezia. Rather than have the staff be a party to her discomfort she walked out of the room and led him away as she spoke.

"Thank you, cardinal..." she said within earshot of the staff. "That was appreciated but most unnecessary," she finished, her face flushed and her tone hot when they entered the main hall. "What on God's earth are you doing here at this hour?"

"I need to discuss something with you, my Lady."

"I have no cases today, this is a day of rest for me."

"I am aware of that. Walk with me to the garden..." he took her arm and led her away despite the scowl upon her face.

"Cardinal, you will unhand me..." she demanded. He did no such thing as he led her to a private spot behind a tall hedge.

"I desire you, Lady Lucrezia—you know this...from the moment I saw you," he said, with ever that smile upon his face, full of mischief and lust.

"You are young man; a poet; an artist; inclined toward the dramatic and, in this case, the impossible. I am a woman in mourning—worse—a _Borgia _in mourning. I find your attentions impolitic and disrespectful and—"

Bembo took her gently into his embrace and cut her off with a kiss. When their lips parted Lucrezia made to give him a hearty slap but he caught her hand and stilled it.

"I see that my desire for you falls on deaf ears and blind eyes—and cold lips, my Lady. You loved him very much, your late husband."

That Pietro sounded amazed at his revelation was not lost on Lucrezia, but the look of amusement on his face angered her; in her mind's eye she saw the man that brought the blush to her cheeks and the fire to her loins and she held back a tear; for, unknown to Pietro, it was the ever-constant effort to subdue her burning desire for _that_ man that he had been witnessing—not the man the world knew as her departed husband. She quelled her tears and looked a defiant challenge into his own piercing gaze upon her.

"Yes," she answered him simply.

"Is there no room for another...here?" He dared to lower her hand, grasped within his, to the middle of her chest.

"How can you possibly ask such a question of a woman whose husband has been only a week laid to his rest, Cardinal Bembo? Have you no honor about yourself?" Lucrezia yanked her hand out of his.

"You love a ghost; I am a living, breathing man—I am here, he is not..."

His words sent a shudder through her as she thought of her Cesare.

"You may never love me as you loved him, but I will not be swayed; I know that you desire me, Lucrezia Borgia, and for now I shall find succor in that—and in one more kiss..."

She deftly avoided his lips. "Love? What do you know of love? You speak not of love, but of lust..."

"I speak of lust _and_ of love to a woman who is at war with herself over both, despite her state of mourning—I've seen you looking at me when you thought you were unnoticed, weighing the possibility of me in your mind, and I know I have not imagined it..."

"You have..." she protested weakly.

"I have not," his lips came closer to hers again.

"I have known you for all of a week..." she said indignantly as she leaned her head away from his.

"I understand that you decided to marry your late Prince after knowing him for all of one day..." he whispered at her.

"How dare you! I will honor that bit of gossip with neither a question as to where you heard it or any answer about it," she said through narrow, angry eyes.

"So, it is true..." he teased her lips with the soft brush of his against them.

"You are impossible!"

"Far from it, my Lady..." he nuzzled her ear with his nose and then inflicted a kiss upon her neck.

"Cardinal, please, stop this...surely you are a man of reason," she sighed at him, worn out and beyond exasperation...and more aroused than she wanted to admit to herself, but determined to see her way clear of him. "You work for my father; you know who I am; you know that I am a prisoner of the politics of powerful men—my life is not my own; I am only here until my father marries me to one of his choosing; were it not for my son, I would jump into Lake Trasimeno and drown myself, and be delivered from all of the torment that comprises my life. I like you; I do find you compelling; but we have no future together and a tryst in the bushes will _not _bring _me_ the succor that it would apparently bring to you."

Pietro released her from his embrace. Her sad words and talk of suicide greatly disturbed him; were the rumors about the Prince true? Was he in fact murdered by her brother, the Duke of Valentinois? Had the murder been ordered by her father, the Pope, in favor of a more beneficial alliance? If it was true, did she suspect? Or did she know it? For there was truly something about her that was as a cloak, worn as a shield and for protection against prying eyes. Or worse—was it true and she had no idea that her happiness could be so betrayed by her own flesh and blood?

At that moment Pietro knew he should fear for his own life, for he had been dispatched by the Pope to watch over her; assist her; report to Him concerning her well-being, more aptly known as staying abreast of the public attitude regarding her, which had, to that point remained favorable.

She needed to be a success for the Pope did, indeed, have grander plans for her. The worst seeds of gossip Pietro had heard had been planted by her own staff, namely, the combative coachman who was typically deep in his cups every night by the stroke of midnight—Tomas Gambino. So far his drunken grumblings had fallen on deaf ears, but he was a disgruntled man and prone to violence. Rome had suited his temperament and given him many outlets to carry on his anonymous and violent propensities; but in small, quiet, family-oriented Nepi he was a bull in a china shop; if he didn't reign himself in, he would be a dead man.

The fear he should have felt, was absent, but the love Pietro felt for Lucrezia was real. To hear her sad words only made his heart go out to her more and convinced him that the poor woman, whatever the truth was about her husband's demise, was not a party to the Pope's desires, at all. He didn't know that he would meet the woman and fall head over heels in love with her, but he had; regardless of what the Pope wanted of him he wanted to be a true friend to her at the very least, and more, if ever she would even consider it. He took a respectful step away from her and bowed in apology.

"No, you are wrong about me, in spite of my dishonorable behavior, my Lady; this will sound just as dishonorable, but please hear me out: I would make love to you this way every day, if you let me, but I would endeavor more to be considered a friend. I have truly fallen in love with you, I will not deny it, but please accept my sincerest apology and kindly find it in your heart to give me the chance to prove that I can be exactly that."

He dared to take her hand to his lips and reverently kissed the back of it, never taking his sparkling hazel eyes away from hers; with a smile that was the saddest she had seen him level at her he gave another slight bow and then silently took his leave.

* * *

"Ah! Our son! Come to me!" Rodrigo gave Cesare a hearty hug.

"Holy Father."

"Sit...sit..." he directed his son to the chair opposite his desk. "How did you leave Forli?"

"The repairs to the damaged battlements are coming along nicely and should be complete soon; the people are still satisfied with their current administration—all is well. Has the Countess budged at all?"

"_That_ lady..." Rodrigo gave a snort of disgust. "Not an inch...of course We expected as much. The trial begins soon."

"Hmm..." Cesare sighed as he thought of Caterina in her apartment prison. He knew what kind of man his father was in regards to the carnal delights he favored most, and none of them entailed that which Caterina had so feared of him. He had seen that there was no way he could verbally assuage her fears, but he had hoped that his father's actual dealing with her would accomplish the same end and maybe allow her to steel her pride and acquiesce. It was disappointing but far from surprise that she had not done so. "And how is mother?"

"Busy, ever busy...she has been in constant correspondence with your sister and brother, so she is quite happy," Rodrigo smiled to himself at the thought of his Vannozza.

"And how are my siblings?" Cesare asked casually, busying himself with the task of unhooking his cloak, making sure to look anywhere but into his father's eyes.

"Gioffre has finally learned how to handle his Sancia," Rodrigo chuckled.

"Oh? And in what way would that be?"

"By handling other—more accommodating—ladies of the court in her stead. But then, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, We hazard to say."

Cesare was not as amused. "He deserves better—he always did. And Lucrezia? Have you someone ready for me to vet?"

"We do," Rodrigo smiled, like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Cesare gave an impatient sigh and waited. "Well?"

"Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara...you will meet with him tomorrow night."

"Very well," he said only, displaying no emotion about the news in any way.

"Very well. Your dispatch of Yves d 'Alegre was magnificent, Cesare, well done."

"Thank you, Holy Father. Where is he now?"

"Taking his rest before the banquet tonight. We have other news for you..."

"Yes?"

"Indeed—it appears that Monsignore Agnelli of Mantua, archbishop of Cosenza, clerk of the chamber and vice-legate of Viterbo, was poisoned at his dinner a few nights ago—We have divided up his possessions, Cesare—his lands and houses will go to you," Rodrigo beamed at his son.

Cesare let out a incredulous guffaw and was momentarily speechless. "How? His family...their claim—how can you do this?"

"How can We do this? How can We..." Rodrigo let out a hearty laugh. "We are the Pope of Rome!" he shook his head and a finger at Cesare as if he were a naughty schoolboy, ever through his irrepressible smile. "Franceso Borgia has been installed as Bishop..."

"Your cousin..."

"Our cousin...the office of the clerk of chamber has gone to one Ventura Bonnassai, who will be at the banquet tonight."

"You mean sold, do you not?" Cesare smirked at him.

"Now Cesare, let Us not be indelicate..."

"Again I ask you...how?" Cesare cocked his head and lifted an intrigued eyebrow at his father.

"His natural heirs tried to contest the action—a lot of crying and moaning over being disinherited," Rodrigo shook his head dismissively, his voice full of annoyed disregard, "but a precedent has been set; We issued a Papal Brief, Cesare—henceforth, no cardinal or priest has the right to make a will—their property, upon death shall pass on to the Pope of Rome."

"And you are still alive—God indeed loves you, Holy Father," Cesare said then with an astounded shake of his head.

"We had better be alive," Rodrigo grumbled at him indignantly with a frown upon his face.

"No offense, Holy Father, and no disrespect, but you do keep things interesting here in the Holy City."

"Yes, enough of that..." Rodrigo cautioned him.

"And my deepest gratitude—Viterbo, no less."

"Yes, Viterbo...and after tonight's festivities We take our meeting tomorrow morning and discuss the strategies to take the rest of the Romagna—with the support of King Louis it is soon to be yours!" his father said excitedly.

"Yes, well, I shall reserve myself at present..." Cesare said then, quite unaffected by his father's enthusiasm.

"Do you doubt that you will have success, Cesare?"

"No—to have success one must see it, indeed, clearly, in the mind's eye, and that I do; I would just save celebration of it until I see it with my physical eyes, Holy Father," he admitted simply.

"Yes, as is your habit, indeed—foregoing celebration", Rodrigo harrumphed, thinking back on the celebration he was denied when Cesare became the Papal Gonfalonier; as in most things his son was most nontraditional and it had ever been a difficult part of his personality for his father to adjust to. "Hmm..."

"What is it, Holy Father?" Cesare knew well that contemplative grumble.

"Nothing...nothing..."

"Very good. Well, if that is all for the moment..."

"It is."

"Then I shall follow the good ambassador's example and go refresh myself before the banquet, as well." Cesare and Rodrigo rose from their seats and then he went to his father's open arms.

"Tomorrow morning, Cesare, the Ambassador, General d'Alegre; tomorrow evening, the Duke of Ferrara...We are on Our way, Cesare—at last—do not doubt that," his father gave a reassuring tousle to his curly locks; Cesare only nodded then broke away from his father, ever reserved and unsmiling—then made haste from his father's apartment and headed for his mother's palazzo.

* * *

"Cesare! My Cesare!" Vannozza rushed to greet her son at the top of the second floor stairs, her arms open, a smile on her face stretched from ear to ear; Cesare took his mother into his arms and hugged her mightily. "Come...come—to the dining room," she took his hand and led him gleefully away. When he was seated she poured them both a goblet of wine then sat and joined him. "Congratulations on your triumph this morning..." she raised her glass for a toast.

"Thank you, mother. And how are you? Father assures me that you are happy—is it true?"

"I...I was, Cesare—I have been in constant communication with your brother and sister—and now you are home again," she beamed at him. "I could be truly ecstatic, if only..." her smile faded as she looked away.

"What? What is it, mother?" Cesare asked her in alarm as he reached his hand across the table for hers.

"Gioffre is becoming more of man with each rising of the sun; despite the sad state of affairs that is his marriage, he is getting along well in Squillace; your success makes my heart soar; but our dear daughter..."

"What mother? What of Lucrezia?" he demanded.

"Her letters are so sad, Cesare, so very sad; she tries to maintain a bright outlook, but it is the truest facade."

"What is her trouble, mother?"

"Humph, what isn't..." Vannozza replied, sounding completely scandalized as she took her hand away from her son's and into the wringing grip of her other.

"Mother, what?" he shook his head at her in complete frustration.

"She's been a success at Nepi, Cesare, so far, at least; there is a coachman who troubles her, for one, spreading gossip while he drowns himself in drink at the taverns every night and even when he's not; she asked me to find a trustworthy replacement for him and then she will dismiss him..."

"Have you? Found one?"

"I have...he leaves for Nepi in two days..."

"And what else?"

"She has become quite despondent, Cesare—I don't think she would ever do such a thing, but she speaks of death, much too much...she tries to hide behind speaking in jest, but she's made too much mention of walking into the lake and drowning herself..."

Cesare looked aghast at his mother and screwed his face up further in shocked disbelief as he struggled to get out any words, which he was unable to do.

"I would not take such comments so seriously if..."

"If? If what?" he managed.

"She is with child again, Cesare...two children now that she will have to abandon when her father marries her again..." her tears came then born upon little choked, tormented sobs.

Cesare was again speechless; he went to his mother, took a seat beside her and gathered her into his loving embrace. "Is she sure?" he asked her quietly.

"Her cycle has always been more accurate than a sundial—she is sure, Cesare, for she has missed it..." Vannozza lamented.

"How long? How far along is she?"

"Ah, yes...how long must she be kept from the negotiations of her father, you mean—he must have someone ready to contract," his mother replied bitterly, thinking that Cesare's desperate concern was thus; though it pained him he knew that he would have to let her think it, for he could never voice the reason to her of his truest concern.

"How far along, mother," he asked her through closed eyes and the resolve to hold his frustration.

"A month, at most...at least this one will be legitimate and entitled to his fair consideration, whether the house of Aragon desires to give it or not," she said through a heavy sigh.

Cesare struggled to contain himself and keep his wild thoughts from broadcasting all over his face; he rose from his mother and began to pace the floor.

"So, has he?" Vannozza asked him then.

"What? Has he?"

"Your father—has he found her next husband already?"

"Yes..." he turned away from her again; he tried to still the knot of anxiety was that burning in the pit of his stomach and rising upward, as if made of tangible flame, making his chest tight, his throat dry and ending with a pressure in head that made him feel as if it would explode.

"Who then?"

A tear had formed at the corner of his eye and Cesare wiped it away as he tried to collect himself enough to face his mother again. "The Duke of Ferrara—Alfonso d'Este. I am to vet him tomorrow night," he said as he turned back to her.

"Your father does keep you busy, does he not?" she said with a crooked smile on her frowning face.

"Is there anything that you know of him, mother? Anything at all?"

"I know that his late wife was Anna Sforza—Gian Sforza's sister, whose lands you are soon to acquire in Pesaro. I have heard that she was quite beloved by him. I've heard that he is a great patron of the arts—and an even greater one of the brothels, since his wife's death."

Cesare gave a disgusted sigh. "Of course father does not yet know—he is too ecstatic over current events for it to be otherwise..." he said more to himself than to his mother.

"Indeed..." Vannozza replied.

"Have you heard of his latest exploit? Over the vice-legate of Viterbo?"

"Are you kidding? The cardinals have been in the most vocal uproar...one can't go to mass without suffering the steely glare of the clerics. Congratulations on your newest acquisition. I say again, Cesare, he does keep you busy..."

"That, he does...and I must leave you now to go to a banquet in the French ambassador's honor; tomorrow we negotiate in earnest and then I will see the Duke. When you send your replacement forward to Nepi he will have company, mother..." he told her ominously.

"You will go to her," his mother brightened.

"Yes; I will try to put her at ease, mother, to the best of my ability and convince her to impart her news to father—it should at least earn her a trip back home and then to the convent when the time is necessary, but here in Rome where you can see about her."

"Oh, my love! Yes...yes, Cesare, with all of my blessings, please make it so," Vannozza cried as she went to him and hugged him mightily; Cesare kissed the top of her head. "Take your ease, mother, and have your man ready for I will come to collect him the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, my love," she said through silent tears of relief as she released him.

Cesare gave his mother a stern, but reassuring nod of his head and then left her.


	20. Alliance

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 20 Alliance

* * *

"Verbum incarnatum. His Holiness, Pope Alexander Sixtus of that name, calls to order a meeting of the sacred College of Cardinals. In attendance today, Ambassador General to King Louis the Twelfth of France, Yves d'Alegre; and His Excellence, the Duke of Valentinois, Cesare Borgia."

Burchart went to his customary seat behind the Pope and began his transcription of the meeting as the consistory took their seats; Cesare and the General stood on the red carpet before the Papal throne and when the Pope held out his ring the General approached first to bend his knee and kiss it, then Cesare.

"Ah, General, We are most happy to receive you this morning. Has your accommodation been satisfactory?"

"Yes, Your Holiness, and thank you for the honor of that fine banquet last evening, the hospitality exacted by the Holy Mother Church, and of Rome, is most graciously appreciated."

"Very good. It is Our understanding that you bring tidings from King Louis of France and seek Our assistance in the matter of Naples?"

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"Well, please proceed and kindly state your case."

"Yes, Your Holiness. The King desires for me to tell you that, in his quest to take Naples, he would grant to His Excellency, the Duke of Valentinois, Cesare Borgia, in addition to the army he now commands, an additional thousand French lances; four thousand Swiss and six thousand Gascons; and further, that Philip of Rabenstein shall bring by sea six Breton and Provencal ships, as well as three Genoese galleons carrying six-thousand and five hundred, more than willing and most capable, aggressors."

"Are these forces available now, General?"

"Yes, Your Holiness, the ground forces have already been dispatched and are tented just outside of San Marino, Your Holiness...an hour's ride from Pesaro..." General d'Alegre included none too subtly.

"And the ships?"

"Moored off the coast of Rimini at ready command, Your Holiness."

"And your King asks for what consideration in return?"

"After successful conquest, with the aid of the expert Duke of Valentinois, the King would seek investiture from His Holiness, the Pope of Rome, as master of Naples, of the town of Lavore and the Abruzzi, and to bear the title of King of Naples and Jerusalem; and asks that said investiture is to be shared with Queen Isabella the Catholic, of Spain, by way of treaty between herself and King Louis, who shall herself hold title to Apulia and Calabria as the Duchess of those provinces."

Beside him it was all that Cesare could do to keep a smile from his face, yet he managed well.

"Very well, General d'Alegre, We shall grant—"

"Ah, my most humble pardon, Your Holiness the King has another request..." d'Alegre managed to interrupt Rodrigo.

"Oh?" Rodrigo asked him, masking his fluster well, and his immediate anger.

"Yes, Your Holiness; King Louis has noted the appreciated service of one of your esteemed cardinals during your negotiations with our dear late King Charles the Eighth and would ask for his inclusion in the campaign; that he would join the Duke of Valentinois, and on behalf of the Holy Mother Church, accompany him to battle so that he may bless the army as they endeavor to honor their Pope, their commanders and Rome."

"You are speaking of Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere..." Rodrigo stated with a grimace upon his face. "We would be inclined to oblige you, General, however, We know not where the Cardinal has secreted himself to of late. We would happily supply one of Our other fine brother cardinals to your service."

"That will not be necessary, Your Holiness, for we know well where Cardinal della Rovere has been and indeed, where he is..."

At that moment all eyes in the room turned to the sound of the heavy wooden double-doors opening and the sight of Giuliano della Rovere entering the room; the surprised and scandalized whispers of the consistory accompanied his eager gait down the red carpet, an easy smile upon his face as his eyes looked to and locked only on Rodrigo's. Again, Cesare found himself striving hard to suppress an impulse, and somehow managed to keep his hand at the hilt of his sword but leave it in its scabbard.

"Your Holiness..." della Rovere went before his Pope, knelt and waited for his outstretched hand to greet him; Rodrigo leaned back into his throne on one elbow and put his hand to his mouth as he glared at the man; finally, and in obvious disdain, he offered his ring slowly to the waiting cardinal to kiss. Giuliano rose, still smiling, then took his place back on the carpet before the throne and sandwiched the General between himself and Cesare. "I would humbly beg your pardon, Holiness, as I was drawn away to see to pressing family business, after which I availed myself to France to acquaint myself to the new King and offer my sincerest condolences on the death of our dear King Charles," he concluded with a bow.

"We are sure," Rodrigo pronounced slowly with a steely glare at the man.

"Your Holiness?" The General addressed him delicately, "may the King find your favor in this regard?"

Rodrigo rose from his throne and smiled at the three men before him. "He will. Upon successful acquisiton, Investiture will be granted by Us, Pope Alexander Sixtus, faithful servant of the Holy Mother Church of Rome, to King Louis the Twelfth of France and Queen Isabella the Catholic of Spain in the matter Naples, Italy. As it is written so it shall be so. Vade cum Deo. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen," he gave the sign of the cross at them and stepped down to shake the General's hand. "Now, please excuse Us as We have other pressing matters to attend. It has been Our pleasure to host you, Ambassador General; please give Our warmest regards and thanks to King Louis." With a final nod to them all left for his chambers, with cardinal Ascanio Sforza and Johannes Burchart in tow.

Cesare braced himself and stood taller as della Rovere approached him.

"Your Excellence."

"Cardinal," Cesare greeted him tersely as he looked intently into the man's eyes. Before either man could get out another word they were converged upon by the rest of the consistory with congratulations, bids of welcome to della Rovere and careful questions directed at them both.

"Cardinals, I shall leave you to your happy reunion with your brother cardinal, for the Ambassador General must make haste back to France," he told them pleasantly as he deftly ushered the ambassador away.

* * *

After Cesare escorted the ambassador away and out of the city gates he made haste back to Castel Sant'Angelo and found his father pacing the floor in the salon of his apartment.

"Why?" Cesare demanded of his father through flaring nostrils and heat rising away from him almost visible to the eye.

"How would We know why, Cesare, or what deal della Rovere has struck with the King?"

"The traitor...the coward!"

"A most cunning coward; his ruse is easily seen through—We know why he did what he did, but not why the King obliged him, that is the question."

"A most consternating one."

"But then again..."

"What?"

"Maybe the King balks at the power We would attain with the marriage of Our Lucrezia to the Duke of Ferrara...the support of Mantua and Urbino this marriage assures irritates him, to say the least—he did try his hand at marrying off one his French princesses to him to further his own influence, did he not? We remember that the Duke made mention of it when last he was here, just before Lucrezia married Alfonso. He set eyes upon her one time, you know, and was immediately smitten; enough so that the French princess was a temptation no longer even though Lucrezia was no option for him."

"Do you really think..."

"We can not say for sure, but della Rovere has no real bearing on you, Cesare, either way. What will he have to report to anyone except your victories in battle, in any case? No, della Rovere is buying himself time and favor with the consistory; he'll be most harmonious on the field with you, but he still plots against Us both; his previous flight from Rome indicted him to sure failure of his truest goal; he had to make a grand gesture and putting himself forward in this manner is public relations at its finest; this is all about future votes, Cesare, pure and simple, and the consistory, save for Our cousin cardinals, are stupid, most of them, and easily swayed by such a tactic. Maybe you'll find a way to leave Our nemesis alone and conveniently unprotected on the battlefield, hmm? To be felled by the arrow of your enemy..." Rodrigo chuckled as his mind happily envisioned his words.

"What battle?' Cesare snorted disgustedly. "Micheletto informs me that Gian Sforza is already deep into preparations to flee Pesaro, there will be no archers to put him in the path of."

"Well...then...perhaps the battle at Naples will afford a better opportunity, hmm?"

"We can only hope," he harrumphed at his father.

"Yes, well what would Heaven be without Hell..."

Cesare gave his father an unappreciative look.

"Really, now, We must concentrate on other things—the Duke of Ferrara, hmm?"

"Yes, the Duke."

Rodrigo gave his son a look. "What is this? Such distaste in your voice—have you reason already?"

"I am trying to keep an open mind, Holy Father, but mother tells me he does have quite an affinity for the company of whores."

"Well, what man doesn't?" Rodrigo chuckled.

"This is the man we are considering to marry your beloved daughter, or had you forgotten?"

"Do not take that tone with _Us_, Cesare," his father hissed at him. "Such an affinity could be a blessing in disguise; as long as he is not a violent man—a brute—that fact, a sumptuous wing to herself and a padlocked door could equal a most happy existence. Even your mother would agree with Us on that..."

Cesare only grunted his disgust. "That is no happy existence, that is prison."

"Enough of that! We understand that you will away to Nepi to apprise your dear sister of the happy news?"

"Have we decided already, then?" Cesare shot back at him angrily.

"Cesare, please..." his father gave a heavy sigh of exasperation at him as he took a seat on his divan and put his hand to his throbbing temple, "there is absolutely no talking to you when you get this way, please calm yourself. We understand your desire to see to your sister's happiness, but give the man a chance, at least, hmm?"

"What you care about is this alliance, father..."

"And you do not?" his father leveled right back at him. Rodrigo waited for his answer. "We are on the cusp of a kingdom, Cesare; you are upset over della Rovere, that is all, for you were fine about this only days ago." Rodrigo rose from his seat and went to his son, who was fuming and facing away from him; he put a reassuring hand to Cesare's shoulder and with a voice full of love made his appeal. "Cesare, we shall vet him; we shall find that he will be a success for your sister—and for Us. I've done a good bit of investigating on my own, son, and I have more than positive feelings about this _marriage_—a true marriage, Cesare. Do you understand me? I know well what I owe to your dear sister. Please try to find your ease and have some faith in _me,_ hmm?" he begged his son softly.

Cesare turned to face his Rodrigo, shaking with rage; he knew that his father had most likely met his goal to finally do right by Lucrezia; as much as he wanted to be happy about it for her all he could do was lament his own breaking heart.

"Give them to me, my son, your tears of frustration, for you are entitled every now and then, are you not?" his father said soothingly when he saw them at corner of his eyes and his son's trembling lips; he embraced him and Cesare allowed the respite in his father's strong embrace. "I do love you so, my son and I am determined to see to your sister's happiness, as well as your own."

* * *

The appointed hour had finally come to meet with Alfonso d'Este. The private interview was held in the same chamber where the annulment proceedings in the dissolution of Lucrezia's marriage to Giovanni Sforza had been held; this time, Vannozza dei Cattanei sat in the gilded cell that shielded her from the view of the participants but allowed her surreptitious privy to the events about to unfold before her. She was already seated and quietly waiting when Rodrigo entered the room first from a secret door behind her; he gave her a wink and took his seat at the head of a long table. Next, Cesare and the Duke entered together from the main double-doors into the room; Rodrigo stood as Alfonso approached to kiss his ring, after which the three men sat down, Cesare and Alfonso opposite each other on either side of Rodrigo.

He wasn't bad to look at, not bad at all, Vannozza mused to herself. He didn't have the boyish good looks of the late Prince, but that was a good thing, for the Prince had been as boyish and unaccomplished as his looks had implied; he was not as handsome as her Rodrigo or Cesare yet he was just as manly, which was also a good thing; only four years older than Lucrezia he had the look of a man in command, which was necessary, from what she and Rodrigo had discovered; the man was a champion of his own father, ever protecting him from the nefarious exploits of his own brother and half-brother. There had been many plots against Ercole d'Este that Alfonso had spoiled magnificently, thus saving his father's life. Only time would tell if the brothers would succeed in their treasonous activities, but her bet was on Alfonso.

His hair was quite curly and short, as the Prince's had been—Lucrezia would like that about him; but his beard was formidable for one so young—Lucrezia would not like that. Well, at the charms of a beautiful woman a man might just trim a beard, she chuckled to herself silently. His eyes were kind though his smile was stiff—understandable under the circumstances, of course.

Vannozza knew that her observations were shallow, but a husband had to be pleasured after all, and such a thing worked so much for the better when one's stomach did not churn in repulsion at the sight of his face or the touch of his hand, and God forbid, both cases. His other qualities, the ones that suited Rodrigo and Cesare were, of course, without reproach. The final test would be the words that came out of his mouth.

"Most Esteemed Duke, We welcome you to Vatican City, to Our Holy Mother Church and thank you for the consideration of the hand of Our dear daughter in the matter of marriage."

"Thank you, Your Holiness, it is my pleasure to be here and my honor to be considered in contention for your Dear Daughter's hand."

_So far, so good,_ Vannozza thought.

"How do you fare after your travels here?"

"Wonderfully, Your Holiness, Your Excellence," he said to Cesare then, "Your hospitality is most appreciated."

"You are most welcomed. So We shall get to it, yes Duke?"

"As you wish, Your Holiness...Your Excellence."

"Do not be afraid to be honest with Us—why would you desire Our daughter's hand in marriage and what do you hope to offer her?"

"Thank you Your Holiness. I have desired your daughter since I first set eyes upon her not two years ago. If you remember I was here in the Holy City on other business with you, during the time the Lady was considering marriage and before she so honored the Prince of Naples."

Cesare's jaws clamped tighter shut at the Duke's perfect answer, but Rodrigo and Vannozza were both duly impressed.

"So your desire for her is sincere?"

"It is, Your Holiness...Your Excellence."

"And what else will you offer her?"

"Safety, Your Holiness, for I shall speak frankly—you both have many foes..."

_Uh-oh _thought Vannozza.

"Of which you can count me _as not_," he continued. "I would champion your endeavors, Your Holiness, and yours, Your Excellence, the same as I champion the interests of my beloved father—whom no doubt you have investigated and found that my skills at doing so have been exercised well—and not yet bested—at the hands of my brother Ippolito and half-brother, Giulio; I would champion her and the whole of your family, upon pain of death, the same as I have my own beloved father and will continue to do as long as I draw breath.

"I would offer her my lands and a court, and a city that is ready to welcome her if she so chooses to come claim it. Last but not least I would offer her my love, if she would have me."

He sounded sincere and Vannozza issued her silent but enthusiastic bravo at him.

Cesare looked to his father then, wondering if he would bring up the man's propensity for whoring about but the pleased look on Rodrigo's face only told him that his father was happy to let well-enough alone.

"Your words and sentiments are most pleasing, young Duke. We endeavor that Our daughter will find the same to be true for herself. You have Our blessing to marry Our daughter, should she be so inclined to honor your proposal."

"Thank you, Your Holiness." Alfonso looked back at Cesare.

"Holy Father," Cesare addressed him without taking his eyes off of Alfonso. "You have given your blessing for the proposal of marriage and that I honor. I would like to speak in private to the Duke now, informally, as one brother-in-law-to-be to another. May I?"

_Uh-oh,_ Vannozza bit her tongue physically and waited with bated breath for Rodrigo's answer.

"Ah...yes—We have no objection if the Duke does not."

"I would be honored, Your Holiness...Your Excellence," the man said, undaunted by Cesare's angry glare.

"Well then, We shall bid you both good night. We look forward to breaking fast with you in the morning, Duke, and hope that your evening is pleasant and restful." Rodrigo stood to leave and Alfonso stood with him.

_Cesare, stand up..._Vannozza hissed at her son silently.

As if he had heard her Cesare rose to his feet to see his father off.

"Good night, Your Holiness."

"Good night, Holy Father."

Rodrigo nodded at them and exited through the main doors. The two men took their seats. Cesare glared at him a long while before he spoke as Alfonso waited patiently and without attitude or intimidation.

"Let me start by saying that I speak as a concerned brother who loves his sister dearly," he began through tight lips.

"Yes, of course, Your Excellence."

"I have heard, and correct me if I am wrong, that you are a regular visitor to the brothels of Ferrara."

"I am only a man, Your Excellence, and not without sin," he said simply, without excuse or apology.

"Hmm. Will this activity stop upon your marriage to my sister?"

"That depends upon your sister, Your Excellency."

Cesare and Vannozza both were taken aback by his bluntness.

"What do you mean? Explain yourself."

"If you sister desires me as much as I desire her already, yes, such activity will stop. But we all know that you and your father, at this point, desire this marriage more than your sister does, and I may not be so honored by her desire, in which case, being the sinful man that I am, such activity would not stop. At least until such time, if ever, that Lady Lucrezia may desire my affections in kind."

Cesare took a deep breath. He could understand such a sentiment and it was actually as considerate as it was practical, given the circumstances. Of course, he was a man. He wondered what his mother was thinking.

"I appreciate your frankness in all things, thus far, and will be the same with you, now. You know that my sister has a child—a bastard."

"Yes, Your Excellence."

"What are your feelings about that child?"

"I know that the prevailing thoughts of the day dictate that her child not be presented at court, as a matter of propriety. I know that the Lady has been separated from her child once before. However, I like children, and I would like hers, on genuine principle. However, I would propose a compromise in the matter of the child, in order that her happiness and his, would be a tangible part of their lives as opposed to be missing from it."

"Oh? And what type of compromise would that possibly be?"

"Could not the boy be presented at court after her arrival? Say within two months, and presented as a nephew? Or some such other family member that a woman would be so inclined to take in?"

"You would honor that?"

"I certainly would. I would have the Lady happy, Your Excellence; I would not like to be the cause of a mother and her son to be so cruelly kept from one another. Regardless of the prevailing thoughts of the day I simply do not see the need for it."

It was all Vannozza could do not to scream out in joy.

"Would that sentiment extend to any other children of hers? For example, if she found that she was pregnant with her late husband's child?"

Vannozza went from wanting to scream out in joy to just trying to keep her mouth shut and the spit down, for she felt faint.

"Is she, Your Excellence?"

"I do not know, I haven't seen her lately; but I hear that she has been sickly and the complaints sound the same as those she experienced during her first pregnancy. It could be a false alarm. But if it wasn't?"

"But this child would be legitimate, entitled to his father's name and inheritance, I would think."

"Yes."

"I would still seek a way to honor the child's legitimacy, his mother's honor and his inclusion at court. I would be open to any and all suggestions of that of yours and His Holiness, Your Excellence. I would only ask one thing."

_Here it is...I knew he was too good to be true..._thought Vannozza then.

"I would only ask that if the Lady is with child, she would impart the information truthfully and herself to me."

"I know my sister, sir—she is incapable of doing anything otherwise. She has never denied her child to anyone, though others endeavored to have her do so. She would not start now, no matter how fortuitous the alliance may be or how it might be jeopardized, and I would not fault her."

"You are a brother to love, Your Excellence. Every sister should be so blessed."

"I wanted to hate you, Alfonso, but I simply cannot," Cesare admitted then.

"I am honored, Your Excellence to—"

"Cesare, good sir, please."

"Cesare..." Alfonso held his hand out to him and Cesare took it, in earnest and in friendship.


	21. Rumour Has It

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 21 Rumour Has It

* * *

"Out! Out! I can't get out!" Vannozza cried excitedly as she tried to extricate herself from her cell; Rodrigo heard her and rushed back into the room to free her.

"Cesare! Did you not hear your mother?"

"He only just left the room—I haven't even closed the door on him properly..." he frowned at them. "He probably heard you, mother..."

"So what if he did—Rodrigo, he is perfect for our darling! Absolutely perfect! I cannot contain myself—Cesare himself admitted his liking to him..."

"What? Really?" A broad smile broke across his face. "This is most splendid...most splendid—now Cesare, you must convince your sister of the same, yes?"

Cesare cast a long glare at his mother; he had hoped to talk to her before his father came back in but he could see that would not happen soon.

"So...tell me—what did he and Cesare talk about, then?"

Cesare looked again at his mother and waited; Vannozza realized then that she could not reveal all of the conversation, for Cesare had broached a subject that Rodrigo knew nothing of at that point; she looked knowingly at her son and calmed herself accordingly.

"He would endeavor to have Giovanni at court, Rodrigo—in what ever manner you might see fit to arrange—call him a nephew; a cousin; whatever suits, as long as he is with his mother."

"That is sticky, my love; the boy is already declared _Infans Romanus_..."

"Then name Cesare as the father and be done with it—she will take her "nephew" to court and go on to some happiness, at last," Vannozza snapped at him.

"Vannozza, please calm yourself, I will work it all out before she walks down the aisle, hmm?"

"I will leave you both to it, then; I must gather a proper retinue together and take them with me when I go..."

"Oh, thank you, Cesare, I don't know why your sister left here with none of her court—when will you leave, then?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh—do you think that you can get them together so quickly?"

"I do, father—I must." He looked again at his mother. "You will have ready for me that which we spoke earlier about?"

"Yes, Cesare."

He nodded at her.

"I appreciate the haste you make my son, but your sister shall be at least a year to her wedding; we must honor the mourning period, at least as close to its completion as possible, hmm?"

"At least, indeed," he looked again at his mother. "I'm off then." Cesare left them.

"So, my love, tell me more..."

"Not here—let us retire to your apartment, Rodrigo..." Vannozza said as she led her excited paramour away.

* * *

The next day, at an hour later than he desired but still in time to arrive at Nepi's castle gates before sundown, Cesare set out for his sister with two hundred courtiers, six hundred soldiers and the man who was to be Lucrezia's trusted new head coachman. He bade his happy parents farewell amidst their most loving regards to be given to their daughter and dispatched Micheletto to San Marino to captain the new army until his own arrival. He left Rome then, with a heart full of happiness for his sister, sadness for himself, and his passion for her, ever unbridled.

* * *

The hour was drawing late; Lucrezia had spent most of the day in her office counseling with Don di Tosoni over a particularly difficult case that she was to hear the following day; when she was confidant that her understanding was complete she gave the Don a happy smile.

"I thank you Don di Tosoni, you cannot know how much your counsel is appreciated. I would ask you to supper, but I know that you desire to get home to your beautiful family and I have kept you long enough," she said as they both rose from her desk; seated in a corner Cardinal Bembo rose up, as well.

"Well, you fed me a most delectable dinner, my Lady, and my wife will most surely appreciate that—I am none too pleasant, I'm afraid, when I am starving."

"I would never choose to send a man home to his wife in such condition," they both chuckled as he took her hand to his and kissed the back of it chastely.

"My Lady, it is an honor to work with you; your skills at negotiation are most natural and more than admirable; you have been a quick study and a just administrator—the people know that when they come to you dispensation will be fair and timely—you are a success."

"I am your protege, Don di Tosoni—your patronage alone is the reason for my success, sir," she curtsied at him.

"Ah, you flatter me much too much, my Lady—never stop!" he joked her then let loose a mirthfully conspiratorial little laugh. "Good night, to you then and give a kiss to your precious little boy from my wife and I both, yes? She so enjoyed her visit with the two of you last Sunday."

"And we enjoyed her—we must do it again soon."

"I will tell her. Until tomorrow then," he bowed at her. "Good night, Cardinal."

"Good night, Don di Tosoni."

The moment came then that Bembo waited most patiently for every time they were together—the one that found him alone with Lucrezia.

"Cardinal, will you stay for supper, then?"

"Of course I will, must you even ask?" he smiled at her.

"There you are, at it again..." she scolded him lightly.

"What?" he feigned innocence.

"That smile, Cardinal—must I give up on you and ban you from this castle?"

"Oh no, I would not have that. Is this better, then?" he frowned at her most comically but could not hold it as her laughter greeted his ears.

"Rogue."

"Maybe, but I do so love when that shield about you, that invisible cloak that you wear for protection and the means to hide your truest self from prying eyes, my Lady, comes down, revealing your true self to me...you are a woman of great passion, Lucrezia Borgia, and I would replace that cloak with my loving arms if only you would let me." His voice was as full of sympathy—and his own challenge.

"Then I must replace it with something that is not so easy to penetrate, it seems—a suit of armor, perhaps, Cardinal Bembo?" she joked him.

"I would penetrate that, as well, my Lady..." he said wickedly.

"Cardinal, you promised to be my friend..." her joking manner dissipated into one of uneasiness.

"I am your friend..." he approached her slowly.

"You will stop this or be banned from coming to this castle ever again, I mean it."

"Strong words, my Lady..." he took Lucrezia into his embrace, "yet so hollow..."

"Cardinal Bembo..." she beseeched him softly, succumbing most definitely to his charm and the feel of his body against her own, "please stop this..."

"Pietro..." he murmured at her.

"Have you no honor about yourself?" The question came out as a whisper.

"I have been a good boy...you should reward me..." he whispered back at her, through the tilt of his head and his imminent kiss.

"My Lady! My Lady! Oh..." Pietra, excited beyond measure stopped in her tracks at the sight of the pair, and her cheeks flushed immediately red from the embarrassment and discomfort of her discovery; she turned away abruptly as the spell and their embrace upon each other was broken.

"Pietra..." Lucrezia began awkwardly.

"My Lady, your brother approaches; he has come from Rome just this moment, and..."

"And here I am, dear sister," he said as he stood next to the flustered woman with a scowl upon his face.

Pietra gave a fearful curtsey at Cesare but said not another word as she left the room in great haste.

"Cesare? What..." her smile at him was immediate even through her own embarrassment and shock.

"I have news of your next betrothal, sister. Good news," he pronounced angrily as he glared at the cardinal.

"Cesare, this is Cardinal Pietro Bembo—surely you know that he was sent here by Our Holy Father?"

"I did not know," he stated as if it was an accusation against her; Lucrezia bristled visibly at his tone.

"He has been my counsel, along with the former governor, and has been of great assistance during my time here, brother."

"I can see that," he leveled at her with a mix of condescension, light reproach and sarcasm that completely unnerved her.

"Your Excellence, I am at your service," Bembo approached him humbly then, and gave him a bow.

"Really?" Cesare's tone was more than indignant; he cast his angry eyes back upon his sister. "I have brought a small but proper retinue with me, Lucrezia, that you must come and greet; and your mother sends that which you asked for in one of your earlier letters—do you remember?"

"I do, brother."

"And then we must talk. Send your little friend away now, I have not much time, for another campaign awaits me," he concluded tersely. Lucrezia was insulted and hurt by his words and both emotions registered upon her face.

"Cesare, I do not appreciate your tone or manner," she said finally.

"Duly noted, sister," he replied coldly. "May we get on with the matters at hand now?"

Lucrezia braced herself as she realized that her brother would not be removed just yet from his anger and turned to the cardinal. "Thank you, Cardinal Bembo for your assistance and your company today. You must excuse me now and I will see you tomorrow morning at the town hall."

"Yes...good night, my Lady." Bembo gave her a respectful nod—and his smile.

"The pleasure was all mine, Your Excellence," he smiled at Cesare as he walked past him and out of the room.

Lucrezia looked at her brother and saw that he was in a quiet rage; she was none too happy herself and brushed past him without another word to go and welcome her courtiers to their new home.

It was more than an hour later that Lucrezia had finally, with Pietra and Maria's help, seen to everyone's accommodations; she would manage a meeting with everyone in the morning before she went to town and excused herself to go and conference with her brother. She found him in Giovanni's nursery, playing happily with his nephew as Miracella sat nervously by.

"He remembers me," Cesare said happily over his nephew as his sister walked into the room; he kissed Giovanni on the forehead then rose from the boy's crib to greet her. His countenance was jarring to her, as the scowl he'd last visited upon her was back in effect and in direct conflict the happy voice that had issued forth from him only seconds earlier.

"Miracella, I shall come check on him again later. Excuse us now, for I have business with my brother."

"Yes, my Lady." Miracella watched the angry pair leave the room, let out a sigh of relief and breathed her first easy breath since His Excellence had arrived.

"Will you take a room tonight or will you go as soon as you are done with me, brother?" she asked him coolly as she led him to a corridor and then stopped.

Cesare yanked her angrily by the arm and turned her to face him. "Do not talk to me like I am some stranger, Lucrezia! As if I'm some lodger at one of mother's inns!" he hissed at her.

"Stop this, now, Cesare...you've brought a household of new eyes to pry into my life, please be cognizant of that," she reminded him coldly.

"Take me to your room," he grunted at her as he released her and angrily pushed her away from him.

When they were at last behind a closed and private door Lucrezia let her own anger rip.

"Why have you done this, brother? Brought all of these people here along with your tidings of bad news? I told mother I would support a proper retinue, but when I was ready—"

"You need other people here, Lucrezia; a house abuzz with life and other concerns so that the town is not set aflame by the rumours of those that have nothing better to do than discuss your lonely condition."

"So, she told you about Tomas, the reason I need to replace him?" she asked as she paced the floor.

"Of course she did. And he is a dead man—tonight."

"And she did not tell you about Cardinal Bembo?"

"No, she did not."

"Is he a dead man, as well?"

"Should he be? Is he bread and water to sate you or have you found yourself a banquet feast, sister?"

"He is neither, brother."

"It did not look that way to me..." he shot back at her.

She stopped pacing and turned to face her brother. "Then your eyes condemn me with their ignorance."

Cesare snorted a disbelieving little guffaw at her and rolled his eyes hard in his head.

"He is enamored of me, yes; I find him pleasing; but this evening was the first that I allowed myself to be swayed by him and I know him not as you suspect."

"But you want to—know him—do you not?" he accused her as he stepped closer to her.

"What has gotten into you, brother? Did we not talk about this very thing? Have I ever come at you in such a condition? And you've had far more lovers than I will ever dare to, so what is this? This anger that has us at each others throats when all I want to do is to feel your arms about me and mine about you?"

"Is that what you want?" he asked her roughly.

"Yes."

He took her into his arms just as roughly. "This is what you want?"

"Yes!"

He took her face into his hands then and his eyes bored into her own, full of fury and torment. "You have been so sure that I would break your heart, and first, but it is you, sis, that breaks mine so magnificently..." he put his forehead to hers. "This _condition_ I am in—is ever my heartbreak—for I must give you up always—to everyone!"

"Cesare..." Lucrezia tried to wrest his hands from her face but could not budge them.

"Argh! No! You will hear me, sister; to husbands; to suitors; to lovers, I must ever give you over to—to a life spent without you more than even in your remote company—and here I find you, moving on without me even as I bring news of the next man who will have you—when all I would wish for is that they would all be me!"

"Cesare, please..."

"And your next husband—I even like him! How could I not? He is honest; he is a man, Lucrezia—a man who could truly make you forget me; the type of man I prayed that father and I would find, one that we could entrust not only you, but your _children _to..." Lucrezia broke away from him.

"She told you..." she gasped as she backed away from him.

"Is it mine?"

Lucrezia broke down into tears then and fell to her knees upon the floor.

"Is it mine!"

"I don't know!" Her voice was full of anguish. "I told you about Alfonso; how he was when he was in his cups—I had him, Cesare, the night before you left for Forli—the night before you returned and he attacked you...the timing of it all...it's just too close for me to know with any assurance, one way or the other..." she sobbed, her face buried in her hands, the lovely apricot skirt of her gown billowing about her as she sank further to sitting dejectedly on the floor.

"You must tell father—and your husband-to-be..."

"What?" she looked up at him aghast.

"Father knows nothing at all, but Alfonso—"

"Alfonso? Alfonso who?"

"d'Este of Ferrara. He only suspects—I had to put the hypothetical question to him, Lucrezia, I had to know. The man desires to bring your children to court, in any way that is possible—even if they have to be declared openly as not being your actual children; he doesn't care as long you have them with you and he would follow any advice and help that our father would render in that matter."

"It is all too much, brother...your anger, this news...I have questions of my own," she said as she brought her tears and her hiccup-infused sobs under control.

"About him?"

"No, about you—and myself."

"What?" Cesare gave his sister a wary look.

"These rumours that swirl about us on the tongues of my servants—I have heard them in full."

"And?"

"And I have read the transcript of the inquest."

"What of it?"

"Is that why father sent me away? Because of Alfonso and what transpired before his accident? Before his accident, Cesare, did you plan to have him murdered?"

Cesare's jaw dropped open and he let out out a sigh, as if he'd just felt the first stab of a knife to his heart.

"I see," she looked sadly away from him.

"Lucrezia..."

She looked up at him again. "You must tell me the truth, Cesare. If we don't have anything else between us we must have that."

Cesare took a chair and brought over near his sister; he took one of her hands into his own and gave it an apologetic squeeze. "Yes," he answered her simply.

"Why brother?"

"Why? Because he was weak! He was unable to protect you, Lucrezia! Unwilling and unworthy! I sat right beside him during my negotiations with King Ferdinand, over your marriage, and not once did he speak up for you or for Giovanni, Lucrezia...not once! He had no ambition; no sense of himself at all; a fearful boy at play in a man's world doing dutifully as he was told—by his uncle; his cousins—you! Content to sit passively by and let the world happen to him as it would. We do not live in that kind of a world, Lucrezia, you know that. He would have never been the husband in your relationship. Had he never married you he still would have found himself in jeopardy for he had no ambition at all—a death sentence for certain within his murderous family." Cesare slipped from the chair and onto his knees as he pulled her up on her own to face him eye-to-eye.

"Alfonso d'Este may have his faults, Lucrezia, but he's a man, with a mind of his own; he is not swayed by popular opinion or by anyone else's but his own and he has assured me that Giovanni and any other child, as yet unborn, would both be welcomed in his court—he would not see you separated from your children; he is not only willing but able to give me such assurance."

"And these faults you speak of? What are they?"

"Minor, compared to what he would offer you. He is more than a good prospect for you, Lucrezia."

"A good prospect for you, brother—and for father," she accused him.

"He will leave you to your bed in peace, Lucrezia, and would not force his affections on you. But he would appease himself otherwise, for he likes his whores."

"Wonderful. Another loveless marriage where I must now appoint a medic to my household staff so that he can verify if it is safe to give my husband a kiss hello when he returns home each day," she slumped back down to the floor; Cesare sat and faced her.

"I cannot ignore that he is a kind man, Lucrezia; a strong man; with one small vice he developed after the death of his dear wife. But his castle is as something from a dream—I know, I've been there; the city is a wonder, awash in art and artists—and life—something you've missed greatly here in Nepi and in Rome, as well. And he wants to give that all to you. Give him a chance—he is truly fond of you."

"He does not even know me, Cesare..."

"He has set eyes upon you before, Lucrezia—he was almost considered by father for contention of your hand at the same time as Alfonso—he saw you at the Vatican during that period when he was there on other business with Our Holy Father."

"Is that so..." she asked disgustedly.

"I know what it looks like to you, my love, but I have talked to the man and learned much of him for myself—he is a good man, at heart—a better man than me. He will treat you as an equal; he will provide you with safety. I would have you marry him, even though I hate the prospect for myself."

"You? _You_ would have me marry him?" she grunted her disgust at him. "You truly have usurped Our Holy Father, Cesare—you would order me to marry this man?"

"I would if I could—instead, I can only beg you, sis...he can give you what I cannot and I have to be honest not only with you, but with myself about that. I was sure that I was truly committed to that truth until I saw you tonight with the cardinal—I'm sorry, I just...I've never seen you like that before, desiring another man in such a way—it hurt me, Lucrezia...on top of everything else it was just more than I could bear..."

"But you had seen me with Alfonso..."

"That was not the case with what my eyes saw tonight; Alfonso was no man and you never reacted to him as one; not even that horrible night that you had to perform for the King—it was not Alfonso you were making love to—it was me—tell me that it was not..." he dared her.

It was true, it was her brother she had been reaching for, and found, in her mind even though her body could not. She nodded her confirmation at him.

"Yes, it was you, always you. Cesare?"

"Yes?"

"You were going to murder my husband, weren't you?"

"Yes," he answered her simply and honestly. "Is that a thing you could ever forgive me for?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?" he asked her in true disbelief, so afraid that her answer would have been otherwise.

"Because you did not do it, my love," she said softly as she put a hand to his cheek. "The opportunity was there, but you did not do it; he would be alive today had he not attacked you. I don't believe you would have ever gone through with it—you are many things, my love, but your concern and self-sacrifice for my happiness has been a constant in my life.

"You may feel all you like about this Alfonso d'Este, I will sum him up for myself; Cardinal Bembo would indeed have been bread and water, my love, but what I want..." she said as she took her hair down, "...whenever the opportunity should present itself, as it has now..." she pulled the bodice of her gown away to bare her breasts for him, "...is a banquet feast, Cesare...and I will not be denied." She put her hand to his neck and arched her back as she drew him toward her; he kissed her neck tenderly and then cupped her creamy mounds in his hands and began to devour her.


	22. Weakness

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 22 Weakness

* * *

"I've missed you, sis..."

"And I you, my love..."

"I have carried this burden in my heart since the night it all happened; I told myself that father and I had to find you the best husband possible and that I would have to let you go...I would _have_ to let you go because I was truly not worth your love and affection..." he began to sob into her chest.

"Stop, Cesare, and never feel that way again..." she tried to calm him.

"I will lose you, Lucrezia; I will lose your heart to him, I know it; I don't want a promise—there's no assurance you can give me that will banish my fear—the only thing in this life that I do fear, Lucrezia—losing your love."

"Cesare, look at me..." she implored him softly. "Look at me, now..."

Cesare gave the top of each breast a tender kiss, then covered them back up with the bodice of her gown as he tried to collect himself and obey her command. "I saw you with him—the cardinal—and I knew my fear was not an irrational thing—to see your desire for another—I cannot bear that...but it is no excuse for my cruel behavior tonight..." he said as he looked at her at last.

"My love, you only expressed that which I have never had the courage to express myself; I've seen with my own eyes not only your desire for other women, but you, in their arms, being pleasured—lost in so much pleasure, Cesare, and abandon; do you think I was not jealous? Do you think that it was easy to hide my hurt behind smiles and words said in jest? Or that it was easy to still my tongue and say nothing at all? What did we say, my love? No matter what and no matter whom, remember? And what did you say to me? You are a Borgia—you are stronger than this—remember, Cesare?"

"I remember, sis, but I have one weakness, my love, and it is you...do you truly forgive me? For all of it?"

"Oh, my darling brother—do you not know already? There is nothing that you could do that I would not forgive—for you are my weakness, as well. Come now, would you not like to rest after your long ride?"

Cesare gave her an awkward look as he composed himself, stood up then held his hand out to help her up from the floor. "I would like a bath...and then to possess you properly..." he hugged her tightly to himself and gave a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you sure that's all you want, brother?" she asked him suspiciously as he released her.

"What?"

"Are you sure that it is only a bath that will delay you coming to my bed?"

"What do you mean, sis...speak plainly..."

"You will not wander off to find Tomas and run him through, will you?"

"And what if I did—he deserves worse..." Cesare grunted his disdain for the man at her.

"Cesare, when you leave this castle he should be alive—there should be no implication that either you or I were involved in his death; I have not been here long, but I have been a success so far, in spite of his slanderous words and negative influence; you do not need any further scandal attached to your name, either. Leave him here for me to dismiss properly, in front of the rest of the house; I will banish him from this castle and away from Nepi; then maybe, as he makes his way, without a horse and drunkenly on foot, he'll lose his footing—and his life—after he's slipped down the slope of a craggy ravine on the road away..." she suggested softly.

"You will stand beside me as I chastise him, putting the fear of God into the rest of them from the steely glare of your greatly displeased countenance alone; and when his body is found—if his body is found—they can gossip about his fate and suspect who they like, without proof but with the sure conviction that any such continued behavior will surely yield the same unfortunate fate."

Cesare let out a little grunt of fascination at her. "Given this some thought, have you, sis?" He lowered his lips to the delicate curve of her neck and kissed it.

"I have," she whispered as she yielded to him in a swoon, lost in the feel of his lips upon her.

"And when on earth did you find the time to concoct this plan..." he murmured against her.

"As I welcomed my retinue and suffered his hateful gaze upon me..."

"Ah—my sister, the truest embodiment of grace under fire..."

"You know well that I excel at thinking on my feet, brother."

"That you do, sister," Cesare traveled his kisses to the other side of her neck. "What else do you do well...on your feet?"

"Oh, I have many talents now, in that respect, brother—thanks to you..."

"You must refresh my memory..."

"First I must show you properly to your room, then fetch someone to draw your bath, and now, brother, or we shall never leave this room..."

"Who wants to?" he whispered before his lips found hers again.


	23. A Bit Of Unpleasantness

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 23 A Bit Of Unpleasantness

* * *

The next morning, long before the sun rose, Lucrezia and Cesare had stealthily parted ways. She saw to Giovanni and had her breakfast in her room, which has been her well-established custom. She next had a very brief meeting with her staff and new courtiers to let them know that there would be a proper meeting before dinner that night, and then left the castle to hear her case at Town Hall, where Don di Tosoni and Cardinal Bembo awaited her.

Cesare enjoyed some time with Giovanni, as well, and then spent the rest of the day surveying the castle and generally making everyone uncomfortable with his troubling and angry presence. The whole of the morning his angry scowl was visited upon all except the two hundred cavaliers and his own soldiers, with whom he spent the rest of the morning instructing at sword practice and discussing maneuvers for the ensuing campaign in Pesaro.

All of the courtiers were indeed abuzz with hushed questions and intrigued speculation at Cesare's continued presence, as well as that of the rather dashing new coachman, Dante Pileggi; but none were more affected than the original twenty-five staff members who had accompanied Lucrezia, and specifically, Tomas Gambino, who secretly suspected that Maria had indeed made good on her threat and reported him to the Lady Lucrezia.

In the whole of his time in Nepi Gambino's vocal and drunken outrages against the family had never ceased; even Ersilio, who had never been more than his own immediate superior, had taken him aside one night after dragging his besotted arse out of the tavern and into the street.

"Are you daft, man? Do you have a death wish?" he'd hissed at him through clenched teeth. "Forget Lady Lucrezia—you let word get back to her father, the Pope—even the hint of a word—of your asinine rantings and ravings and you'll find yourself in a very special cell in the dungeon of Castel Sant'Angelo, wishing to God in heaven it was just the rack you were shackled to, man; if you hate your job so much shut your fucking yap and don't open it again unless it's to tender your resignation from your post."

Ersilio had him hemmed against a wall holding him by the neck with one hand, his other clenched in a tight fist barely resisting the urge to pummel the man within an inch of his life.

"I need this job, you fuck!" Gambino had raged at him.

"Then act like it, man! And from now on confine your drink and your ill-will to the four walls of your room—because if your foul mouth and temper should happen to cost me my job..." Ersilio had thrown him to the ground, "I'll happily run you through myself! Get out of here!"

That had been only two weeks prior to the arrival of the bastard Borgia bitch's bastard brother. Gambino hated the lot of them, especially their hypocrisy; the Borgia bitch was not in mourning at all—she was carrying on openly with the handsome cardinal, at least, as openly as she dared; and her bastard brother—what a mockery he had made of his cleric's collar, the murdering Spanish menace; and the Pope, that big Jew-loving, whore-mongering, Spanish bag of wind—defiling the Papal throne and all of Rome with his very existence.

Yes, he hated them all, and it festered within him and grown like a cancer that was consuming him; he knew that it would kill him, but Gambino was helpless to still his tongue against them; if he was going to die anyway then he would have to remain true to himself and go out with his denouncement of them all on his dying breath. So the bastard brother was in town—so what. Gambino determined within himself that he would not run and he would not hide—and he would not shut up, no matter how spineless the rest of the household was, for he was only voicing opinions they all felt but were too chickenshit to admit to themselves. The citizens of Nepi had turned a blind eye to the bitch, but Gambino knew that, had he been still in Rome, he might have drummed-up a little revolution by that time, for all of Rome hated the Borgia's. Yes, Rome—that was where he needed to get back to and get back to it he would.

After Lady Lucrezia's brief meeting that morning he had availed himself of Donatella's offer to meet her in her room for a little romp.

"Back to Rome? Are you serious?" Donatella scoffed at him as she lay beside him, already in a bad temper at his less than enthusiastic and quick performance.

"Of course I am. I hate this town; I hate this job—I hate being on the Borgia dole," he said in an angry huff as he got up to dress.

"You're over-reacting, Tomas; so he's here—so what? He only came to bring the rest of the court, calm yourself..."

"And a new coachman—he's here to replace someone, you dizzy cunt, can't you see that?"

"Language, you sot," she shot back indignantly.

"Language, yourself. I'm leaving this hell-hole this very instant." Gambino barely had his breeches tied up as he did just that and left Donatella's room; outside of her door there was a surprise waiting for him.

"About time you got back to work—Tomas, is it?"

Gambino sneered at the fake duke before him. "You know very well what my name is. And I don't work for any of you anymore, as of this very instant," he said boldly to Cesare as he tried to pass him.

"You've not been dismissed by Lady Lucrezia and, as such, you will report to the job you are being paid to do here, _sir_." Cesare drew his sword and further barred the man's way. "And you will address me properly."

"Or what?" Gambino practically spat at Cesare. Just then they could both hear the approaching footsteps down the marbled floor of, what looked to Gambino, to be at least two dozen marching soldiers.

"Or these fine men will escort you to your quarters and guard you until the Lady returns to deal with your most abominable work ethic—or rather, the lack thereof. There is a choice to be made here—to your work—or your confinement. Which is it to be?"

Gambino gave Cesare a contemptuous once-over. "To my work, _Your Excellence_."

Cesare gave the man an amused smirk and re-sheathed his sword, then turned to his soldiers. "Take him to his quarters and post yourselves—half of you outside of his door, the other half outside of his window." He turned back to the angry man.

"You liar! You said I had a choice!"

"I said there was a choice—I did not say the choice was yours. You can thank your foul and disrespectful demeanor for the one that has been made," Cesare told him dismissively as he turned to leave. "Take him away," he ordered his men.

* * *

Lucrezia managed to wrap up her day in time to see to her staff and courtiers at the time she had appointed earlier that morning; she had a few moments only to dismiss her amorous cardinal and speak to Cesare. She got out of her carriage and met the cardinal as he dismounted from his horse.

"Cardinal Bembo, I don't mean to be rude; as always your assistance today was most appreciated but I must bid you good evening now, for I must see to business with my court," she gave an apologetic smile up at him.

"I hope there's not trouble afoot, my Lady..." he gave her a concerned look in return.

"Nothing that cannot be handled with fair and honest communication, dear Cardinal."

"Very well, then—until tomorrow," he gave her a little bow as he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

"Until tomorrow." Much to Lucrezia's relief the cardinal took his leave without further fuss. She went inside and met Cesare in her office and locked the door behind her.

"My love..." she said softly as she rushed into his embrace.

"Sis..." he murmured after his lips released hers. "Good evening..."

"Good evening, to you."

"How did it go with your case today?"

"Well...I've no time for details at the moment—and you? How was your day?"

"Gambino had sense enough to know that he was in trouble—he tried to leave this afternoon..."

"Of course, you stopped him?"

"Of course. Your court awaits in the great hall for you as we speak."

"Good. How is my Giovanni? Did you get to spend some time with him, brother?"

"I did—this morning for a bit after you left and just now, not ten minutes ago. He is fine and Miracella is ever on the job, sis."

"Good. Well—shall we?"

"Yes. Now remember, I shall take my leave immediately after your meeting..."

"And return alone and lie in wait for him to flee, just up the main road..."

"And then he will be mine."

"Do be careful, Cesare..." she said worriedly.

"Oh, that I will; I shall report to you and then say goodbye properly before I head onward to Pesaro."

"Alright then—I shall make short work of this..." Lucrezia said then as she headed for the door.

* * *

"Thank you one and all for your kind indulgence this evening. To our new arrivals, welcome again; I shall be sending a courier to Rome tomorrow with the requests for supplies and the comforts you find yourself without—thank you for your quick responses by way of the notes you left in my office today."

Lucrezia stood before them all at the front of the hall on a little makeshift podium; as she looked at the sea of faces she noted that most were quite amiable, despite the heavy presence of soldiers at the back of the hall, meant to further terrorize Tomas Gambino and any others who were so inclined to be unnerved by them; and despite the menacing glare of her brother, who stood silently beside her.

"I do have a staffing change to announce and a bit of unpleasantness to address. First, to my coachmen: I am appointing and would like to introduce your new Head Coachman, Dante Pileggio, who will replace Ersilio Varni. Ersilio, please be advised that this change is not a result of any failing on your behalf, whatsoever, and is not meant in any manner to impugn your dedicated service, sir; it is merely necessary to make at this time," she addressed the man directly.

"Thank you, my Lady, for your gracious assurance and the opportunity to remain in your employ."

"You are most welcomed, Ersilio. Please also understand that this change in your position does not translate to a demotion in your pay, sir, for your service has been impeccable and most appreciated."

All of it was a surprise to Ersilio, for he was sure the new man was a replacement for Tomas; but the bit about his pay was a surprise to everyone and a small ripple of amazement and admiration went through the room in a hush of whispers and very light applause.

_Good move, sis; excellent way to instill loyalty in a man, leaving his pocket intact when he expects otherwise and worse, _Cesare smiled inside himself at her, never once breaking his stern glare at the room before him.

"And now for the unpleasantness. I will have you all know that I am not one prone to act on gossip or false witness; I know for a fact and firsthand that there are some here who are not happy at all in my employ; to the extent that, and based on well-substantiated grounds, I would ask you, Tomas Gambino, to tender your resignation to me this evening and leave my employ, this keep, and Nepi, tomorrow morning. I will have cook prepare your last meal and then after your repast will leave here on foot with the sunrise, for I would not ever endeavor to send anyone on the treacherous road away from here in the dark of night. You will receive your severance pay, a packed meal and two canteens of water."

"You Borgia Bastard Bitch!" he raged at her as he stepped forward. The court broke out in a scandalized uproar.

"Take care, Gambino..." Cesare warned him; he gave a nod to several soldiers who were immediately upon the livid man and took him in arms.

"I could have been gone already had not your bastard brother detained me!"

Lucrezia said nothing.

"And on what grounds do you commit this travesty?" he demanded.

Lucrezia stood taller as she leveled a less than genteel look directly into his eyes. "The night we arrived here, sir, I was coming down to make myself a pot of tea and I overheard you: _"I heard that she had a terrible quarrel with His Holiness and he banished her here as a punishment..." _Were those not your exact words, sir?" she asked him coldly.

"I said no such thing!"

Standing in the audience the other staff members who had heard him utter those exact words couldn't believe that Tomas thought he had a leg to stand on, and at being a coward to boot; others, who had contributed their gossip to the conversation felt immediate guilt and fear at knowing that the Lady had been on to them all from the very first. Miracella was not present, but Pietra, was the only one of that group, in the room at that moment who was clearly without any reason to feel fear over her footing with her Lady; though she felt relief for herself she did not take comfort in knowing that many of her friends could face the same fate as Tomas.

"Really, sir? Your gall is amazing, for there are those in this room who heard exactly those word issue forth from your mouth. But this is not a trial. Your false and slanderous words were hurtful, and I cannot have one that feels such as you do in my employ. I had hoped that it would not come to this, but feeling as you do you should have tendered your resignation long before now. It is neither here nor there now, Mister Gambino. You are dismissed."

Cesare nodded to his soldiers to take the man back to his quarters.

"You fucking Spanish cunt!" he yelled as the soldiers dragged him away, kicking and drooling his venom from his mouth, spittle flying.

"Halt!" Cesare rushed down from the podium as the soldiers held Gambino fast and cold-cocked him, sending him to the floor in near-unconsciousness. "Get him out of my sight!" Cesare wheeled around in a fury and looked wildly about the room as he tried to reign in his blood lust; he pulled himself together and looked up at his sister.

"Sister, I must leave you now, for you know what campaign awaits me next," Cesare announced then.

"Yes, Your Excellence—thank you for bringing my retinue and your kind assistance. I wish for the safe travel of you and your soldiers and success in your next endeavor. Go with God, brother."

Cesare gave her a bow and marched out of the room followed next by his soldiers. Lucrezia turned her attention back to her court.

"If there is anyone in this room who desires not to be here, please make yourself known to me at the end of this meeting so that arrangements can be made for you to leave my court; the sorrow cast upon this court over the death of my husband is enough; I will not tolerate any further discomfort or rancor here—not for any of you or for myself. Thank you for time and indulgence."

None of the other staff or courtiers remained behind to seek further audience with her—except for Pietra, who approached her with a concerned look.

"My Lady, are you alright? Can I get you anything?"

"No, Pietra, thank you; I am just tired—it has been a long day and I must go see to my son, now. Thank you dear, please go and try to find some pleasure in the rest of your own evening, yes?"

"Yes, thank you, my Lady—call on me if you need anything, anything at all..."

Lucrezia gave her an appreciative nod and then left her for Giovanni.

* * *

Gambino paced his room like an angry caged animal; his roommate, Antonio, was surely already where he wanted to be—at the tavern in town; he figured the lot of them had slunk off right after the meeting like the dutiful, trained dogs that they were, with their tails tucked between their legs where their balls should have been; they were all probably laughing at him that very moment, full of strong ale and sorry complacency. Well, they could all have each other, he thought disgustedly to himself, the Borgia-ass-kissing lot of them.

At some point during his pacing and silent ranting and raving he heard the sound of footsteps marching away; he dared to open his door and look outside of it only the find the hallway empty and his door unguarded; it was all that he needed to cement his plan to leave that very night for he was not afraid of the dark nor the road that led away from Nepi. Gambino gathered his scant belongings contained in his leather rucksack, slipped out of the castle, off the grounds and away into the night.

As he tightened his cloak about himself against the cold air Gambino thanked God that at it was at least a night without rain, but the fog was dense and made it that much more important for him to pay attention to his every step along the road. About two hours in to his journey his anger began to abate a bit and instead of seeing Lucrezia's beautiful, cold face in his mind's eye he began to think really about where he would go; his jaw was still smarting from the punch the bastard brother had inflicted upon him even though his pride had been wounded more to have been called out as a coward and handled so injuriously before the whole court. He vowed to himself that the pair of them would pay dearly for what they'd done to him, if it was the last thing on earth he ever accomplished.

His anger and hate heated his blood, as well as the brandy in his flask, and helped to keep him warm but already he was growing weary; he was, however, determined to make it a good bit down the road and not stop to rest until he had the protection of the light of the sun. As he trudged onward the fog began to play tricks on his eyes as he saw shadows and shapes looming about in it, seeing things that could not possibly be before him; presently he heard the actual sound of the hooves of a galloping horse.

"Who goes there? A ride for a weary traveler? Who goes there?" he called out.

"Who goes there, indeed..." came the familiar voice as a horse slowed and revealed it's rider to him.

"You!" Gambino eyes grew wide in surprise and then squinted in anger.

"Ah...no big, bold words from you now? How you disappoint me, Gambino," Cesare said as he advanced slowly upon the man. "Spanish cunt? Borgia Bitch? You must know that death alone is too good for you—especially the one you will suffer this night..." Cesare said calmly. "It would be my truest wish to whip you within an inch of your sorry life and then flay you while you still draw breath; I would cut out your vile, slanderous tongue and your eyes, as well; and for good measure I would cut off your limbs and then set all of your bloody pieces afire..." he said as he produced a flask from inside of his cloak and began to slowly uncork it. "But alas, I can lay no actual hand on you..." he doused the man with the contents of the flask, which smelled of the same brandy Gambino had been partaking of from his own. "Yes, it does have a nice warming effect, does it not?" Cesare emptied the entire flask upon him. "But you are a lucky bastard, Gambino, for the only pleasure I can take is the image of your body tumbling down this steep ravine and of you—lying bloody and all of your bones broken—dead at the bottom of it..."

Gambino had been too shocked and mesmerized by Cesare's heinous words to issue any of his own; he realized only as he lost his footing that he had been moving, away from the advancing horse, backing steadily to his death; he screamed out as he tumbled over and soon his scream ended abruptly. Cesare dared not dismount or even get close enough on the edge to peer over it on his horse; he had picked the exact spot in the light of day and knew that it was a crag the man would not survive falling into. He steered his horse carefully away and headed back to the castle to see his sister, as he had promised earlier to do, to give his report and say his proper goodbye.


	24. Absolution

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 24 Absolution

* * *

Lucrezia sat upon her bed trying to read and could not concentrate on a single word upon the page before her; the hour was growing late and she was beside herself with worry over where her brother was, how he fared and how he would get back into the castle unseen. She had only just gotten Giovanni settled down to sleep not even a half hour before; under normal circumstances she would have already been in her bed, but her complete anxiety prevented her from yielding to her fatigue or even feeling it. She snuffed out all of the candles and stoked the fire in the fireplace, then paced the room in the golden glow of the dancing flames. Suddenly there was a knock on her door; without asking who was there she ran to it and yanked it open to reveal a tall man, wearing a monk's simple brown robes, a black mask and her brother's familiar little smirk upon his face; Lucrezia whisked him through her door.

"Are you certain you weren't seen, Cesare?" Lucrezia asked her brother once he was inside of her room.

"Do not fear, sis, I am as a puff of smoke in the fog...Argh!" he let out a defiant cry of victory.

"Quiet, brother, do you want the whole castle to hear you?"

"There is no one about, sis, and besides, I came through a secret passage—calm yourself..." he smiled at her as he took her into his embrace.

"A secret passage? How in the world—" she began in confusion.

"What is a castle without secret passages? And what do you think I did all day, sis, aside from play part-time playmate to Giovanni and Tomas Gambino?" he chuckled. Lucrezia continued to look her astonishment at him. "I've seen the plans for this place—when father endeavored to begin renovations here, sis—I spent part of my day confirming which passages were still in good use, that's all."

"So, it is done?"

"It is done; I caught him unaware and backed him right down a steep cliff and into a ravine; by the time he's found, sis, if ever, he'll be bits and pieces of bone scattered about by the woodland animals."

"Good," she said in great relief.

"We have other things to discuss, my love, before I go..."

"Such as?"

"You must tell father that you are with child, Lucrezia; before the prospect of the Duke of Ferrara mother and I had discussed this and determined that the revelation would earn your trip back to Rome and to a convent nearby, to secret yourself and have your baby..."

"But why a convent, Cesare? The world will assume the child is Alfonso's, as well he could could be..."

"True, sis, but father still has to present you as a virgin, remember, to your next suitor..."

Lucrezia broke out of her brother's embrace and began to pace the floor again, wringing her hands as she went. "Oh, it is all such a mess, Cesare..." she said dejectedly.

"Not so much, now, sis—that is why you must meet Alfonso d'Este and right away—he harbors no ill-will toward Giovanni and he asks only that you tell him the truth about the child in your womb."

"What truth, brother? That he could possibly be yours?" She shot him an angry glance as she continued to pace the floor.

"Of course not, Lucrezia—do not be difficult, nor angry—he only desires that you tell him the truth of your condition, regardless of what the world may have to be told; I told you before that he seeks the best possible solution for your happiness and will enjoin our father to help him do so. Realistically, we are looking to marry you by the end of your period of mourning, but with the child coming other preparations must be made and you will need to be in Rome for that, can't you see?"

Lucrezia turned and sighed heavily at him.

"Come, sis—come to me..." he held his hand out to her; she walked slowly back into his waiting arms and rested her head upon his chest when she reached him.

"We don't have much time and I do not know when I will see you next; you're sending a courier back to the Basilica tomorrow; include your letter to father and tell him what he needs to know, sis, he will surely arrange a meeting with the Duke; then plans can be made for a true life to be had by you, at last—a happy life that includes your children in it, yes?" He took her chin in hand and looked her steadfastly in her eyes. "Yes?" he murmured at her. "Please do say yes, Lucrezia..."

"Cesare..."

Cesare only hugged her tighter to himself.

"Do you really trust this man to his word, Cesare?"

"I do, sis. Be assured that he means you well, even if your feelings for him are not reciprocated; he would still offer you the safety of his court—and his favor. I would be lying to you if I told you that such an arrangement would not make me entirely unhappy, for I would still have your heart and I would make it my priority to come to Ferrara often and reclaim it."

"Cesare?"

"Yes, my love?"

"May I say it? For surely I am the only one who can..."

"Say what, sis?"

"That you are quite possibly...almost assuredly completely deranged," she smiled up at him.

"Maybe..." he smiled down at her, "but most definitely when it comes to you, my love—you will forgive me for it, will you not?"

"I will, my love, you know that I will. But I will have to hear it from the Duke's own lips and even then I may not believe his words to be true, Cesare. Why can't I just stay here and receive you in peace when circumstances would avail you to me? That is a life I could be more than happy with..."

"It would be idyllic, my love, but we both know that could only ever be a dream; reality dictates that, at the very least, I must entrust your safety to another..."

"And politics, brother, the truest reality that dictates my life..." she said bitterly into his chest.

Cesare grunted his frustration at her then. "Please, let us not fight, sis, not now...not now..." he took decisive hold of her then and kissed her deeply. "We only have until before dawn, my love, let us not waste time with bitter words that would keep us apart..." he lifted her up then and carried her to her bed and laid her gently upon it. "No more words, sis; let our lips partake of other more pleasurable endeavors, hmm?" he said softly against her neck.

Lucrezia, laying beneath him in a swoon, eager for their bodies to become one—happily and hungrily—acquiesced.

* * *

More than a month had passed since Tomas Gambino had departed from Nepi. In that time Cesare had achieved the anticipated success in taking Pesaro and was administering to its people with their full favor, with his sights set next on Rimini, Lucrezia had learned from her mother. Lucrezia's own governorship continued to be one that the people of Nepi fully embraced and her court had fallen into a more harmonious state. While her staff had subsequently yielded none that sought to cease their employ with her, there were some that still wondered about Gambino and what had become of him, in particular, his former bed mate, Donatella.

When Donatella received a letter from a cousin in Rome that she had continued to stay in touch with it came with no confirmation that the man had been seen again there. In addition to her cousin she and Tomas had shared many mutual friends in Rome and if he had made it back she would have had some indication of it. She voiced her concern to Maria one evening when they found themselves alone in the kitchen plucking hens for the next day's meal.

"Just two more and then I'm off to bed, Donatella...thanks for staying behind to give a hand, eh?" Maria smiled at her. "I see the new coachman's been making eyes at you, girl—why haven't you had some of that?" Maria ribbed her gently with her elbow.

"He can look at me all he likes, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him," Donatella declared very definitively.

"What?" asked Maria, more than surprised; Donatella had never, in all the years that she had known her, been one to turn down the advances of a handsome man, and that Dante was a fine piece of work, indeed.

"He came from the employ of the Lady's mother, you know; she doesn't trust us at all, our Lady, at least none more than Miracella and that little kiss-ass, Pietra," Donatella harrumphed.

"Well, can you blame her, after Tomas? We're all lucky to still have jobs, no thanks to him," Maria scoffed at her.

"Maybe. He's not been heard from, you know; my cousin and acquaintances in Rome have seen neither hide nor hair of him and I know it was back to Rome he was planning to go," Donatella said with a voice full of suspicion.

"Hey, keep plucking, there...still fancy him, do you? How long had you two been messing about?"

"Off and on for three years; we might have been married if he could have stayed out of the taverns and off the bottle long enough to sober-up and stay that way. Either way, I had feelings for him, I'll readily tell anyone, but I may never forgive him for being such a complete ass."

"At least you know that he was, girl, I'll give you that much. For his sake I hope that he wised-up and made the decision to stay far away from Rome—you can bet His Holiness caught wind of his shenanigans from the son—he would be a dead man in Rome and you know it. I'm sure he's made his way elsewhere and has either forgotten you with another woman or at the bottom of a bottle—knowing him, both."

"Well, Maria, thank you so much for your kind regard, you old witch." Donatella had been wrapped-up in her thoughts and had stopped at her task again.

"Mind yourself, girl—and keep plucking, I'd like to get to bed—tonight."

"I tell you he was headed for Rome, Maria."

"You're really worried about the little sot, aren't you? Well, I'm telling you—Tomas likely just went on somewhere else, the wisest decision he's ever made in his life, I'll hazard. Let it go, girl—and keep plucking..."

* * *

Some two weeks later, a merchant had been on his way up the road to Nepi with his fresh stock of grouse when his dog discovered the remains of a badly decomposed body; he had let his dog off the chain to romp a bit and when the animal came back it had the bone of a human arm in his mouth; led by his dog he went to investigate and found the corpse of a man, lying half-in, half-out, of a stream at the bottom of a ravine not far off from the main road. He was not too surprised, for it wasn't the first time such an event had occurred. He looked about for a sign of anything that might be useful to identify the unfortunate soul and found only a badly dented tin flask covered in what was left of a badly weathered leather pouch; he fished the corpse out of the stream enough to see if anything was in the pockets and found nothing. That the corpse was stripped of anything useful, including any coin, was also not an unusual occurrence in such a situation, either; when the hunter was satisfied that he could find nothing to benefit himself or any possible acquaintances of the deceased he went back to his horse and cart, loaded his dog into it, and proceeded to make his way up to Nepi.

"Don di Tosoni, we have have one more to hear, do we not?" Lucrezia asked him as she began to collect her things together. She'd found it difficult contain her desire for the day to be done for she had been summoned to Rome by her father to meet the Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso d'Este; she would be leaving the next morning and had much to see to before she took her leave.

"Yes, my Lady, a merchant that we do business with often wishes to advise us of a sad discovery he made on his journey here."

"Yes, kind sir, please step forward," she smiled at the man as she motioned him before the dais where she, di Tosoni and Cardinal Bembo sat. "Your name, sir?"

"Ferdinand Battaglia, my Lady; I hunt fowl and trade here in Nepi once a month."

"I see. And you found something here, sir? Something unfortunate you say?"

"A body, my Lady, in a stream at the bottom of Via Amerina."

"Oh my." Lucrezia let out a genuine gasp of surprise.

"I found nothing on the body except this, my Lady..." Battaglia pulled the flask out of a bag and showed it to the three of them.

"Lay it on the table, sir, we will need to call the police and a medic to go and retrieve the body for investigation," di Tosoni advised him.

"I'm leaving after this meeting—I stay for a day, you see, spend the night and then make my way home the following morning—I always like to get down to the main road before sundown..." he explained to them.

"Of course, sir..."

"I would have come yesterday, but I had to make my sales..." Battaglia said awkwardly.

"Of course, sir, we certainly understand," Lucrezia reassured him.

"I'll be more than happy to direct the police to where I found the body, of course."

"I shall handle that, my Lady—I know you have preparations to make," di Tosoni offered.

"Thank you, Don di Tosoni, I greatly appreciate that."

"Very well, I will appraise you of the findings, should we have any before your departure; do have a pleasant trip if I do not see you again before you go, my Lady."

"Thank you, my friend."

"I shall accompany Don Di Tosoni, Lady Lucrezia, and give absolution over the poor soul; may I call on you later this afternoon to report our preliminary findings?"

"Of course, Cardinal Bembo, I would appreciate that."

"Then until later, my Lady," the cardinal kissed the back of her hand then escorted her to her carriage.

* * *

Later that evening Cardinal Bembo and Don do Tosoni both came to call on Lucrezia.

"May we retire to your office, my Lady?" the cardinal asked her delicately.

"Of course..." she said with a worried frown as she noted their sad and somber demeanor; she led them from the main hall and away from Pietra, who had let them in; Maria passed by on her way to the kitchen.

"It's rather late for them to be about, just coming in and all—what's that all about?" Maria asked Pietra.

"I have no Godly idea..." Pietra replied, equally dumbfounded.

"My lady, we have very sad news for you..." di Tosoni began sadly after Lucrezia closed the door on them in her office.

"What? What is it, dear Don di Tosoni?"

"The body found by the merchant—were are certain it is that of your former employee, Tomas Gambino..."

"What? Oh, my...Tomas? How—"

"The body was very badly decomposed, my Lady; he had been stripped of all of his valuables; but there was a ladies gold locket sewn into a pocket in his breeches, with a lock of dark hair and a little note, signed by one named 'Donatella'-whomever it was that took his other things surely missed it; and the tin flask in the leather pouch that you saw today. I know that you have a maid here by that name—we'd like to show these items to her and see if she can identify them."

"Certainly—I shall go and fetch her..." Lucrezia left the two men and found Pietra and Maria in the kitchen.

"My Lady? Is something wrong?" Maria asked her when Lucrezia appeared before them.

"Has Donatella retired for the evening?"

"She has..."

"Would one of you go and fetch her, please, and have her come to my office? Don di Tosoni and Cardinal Bembo would like to speak with her."

"I'll go." Maria left them.

"What is it, my Lady?" Pietra asked her then.

"I shall wait to tell you when I know something for certain, Pietra," Lucrezia told her and the left for her office.

"My lady? Is there something you require of me?" asked Donatella, who appeared to them dressed still in her nightgown with a cloak covering her for the sake of modesty.

"Donatella, you know Don di Tosoni and Cardinal Bembo—gentlemen, Donatella del Vecchio." The men bowed their heads at her.

"Yes—how can I help you?"

"Signorina, you knew Tomas Gambino?" the Don asked her.

"I did—what of him? Is there some trouble?" she asked them with evident and true concern.

"Signorina del Vecchio, can you identify these items?" Cardinal Bembo brought her over to Lucrezia's desk and showed her the flask and the locket laid out on a square of black velvet cloth; Donatella went first to the locket and opened it.

"This was mine...this is my hair...Tomas took this from me before he left, to remember me by...he had me conceal it—a little pocket I made, inside of his breeches that I sewed shut," she muttered to herself as she thought back to a morning, long ago in Rome, that he had lovingly clipped a lock of her hair, placed it in the locket and confiscated it as his own. "What has happened to him?" she asked them both desperately when she turned back to face them.

"I am afraid he suffered a most unfortunate accident, Signorina—apparently he fell to his death on the road away from Nepi."

"No!"

"He was known to be...well, he was well-known at the taverns, was he not?" the cardinal managed.

"He was a drunkard, you can say it," she responded angrily.

"Was he intoxicated, do you know, when he left Lady Borgia's employ?"

"No, he had not been drinking that night..."

"That night? Did not the Lady release him to his own devices on the morning following his dismissal before the court?"

"No, he left the same night; when the soldiers at his door left to away with His Excellence, Cesare Borgia, he came to my door to tell me goodbye—he left that night."

Lucrezia only looked her distress at them all but said nothing.

"Was he inebriated?" asked the Don.

"He was not; he had been sober for the meeting with Lady Lucrezia and he was sober when he knocked on my door. As a matter of fact, he was so angered that he almost left without coming to see me at all—he was almost at the road when his anger abated enough for him to get control of himself and come back to tell me goodbye—he told me that himself. He was not drunk when he left here, sir."

"But he had this with him?" di Tosoni held up the flask.

"He did, and yes, it was full—of brandy. But he was sober when he left me," she angrily maintained.

"That may be so, Signorina del Vecchio, but this flask was found sealed tight and almost empty; it is safe to say that, between drink and the heavy fog the settles over road at night, he most likely found himself too close to the edge of road and fell to his death," the cardinal said then with genuine sorrow for her in his voice.

"Will you come to town and make a formal report of identification to the police, Signorina del Vecchio?" di Tosoni asked her then, "in the morning—nine o'clock?"

"Of course I will."

"Thank you, Signorina del Vecchio, and I am truly sorry about the loss of your friend," the Don told her.

"As am I, Donatella..." Lucrezia made to go to her but Donatella shot her an especially angry look as she backed away from her; without another word to anyone she left the room.

"She is aggrieved, my Lady, do not take offense at her," the cardinal counseled her.

"I take no offense at all, dear Cardinal, even though it is clear that she blames me."

"You told the man to leave at sunrise, did you not? That was my understanding of the matter from Cardinal Bembo, here," the Don interjected passionately.

"Yes, I did."

"It is not your fault, then, that the man was such a fool—or so unsavory, hence the need for his dismissal; do not trouble yourself, my Lady, there is no possible blame to lay at your feet."

"Thank you, Don di Tosoni, you are most kind."

"Shall we go now, Cardinal?"

"That depends—my Lady, would you like for me to go and speak with Signorina del Vecchio and offer my services to her?"

"If you think it may give her comfort you are certainly welcomed, Cardinal."

"Then I shall take my leave, good people. My Lady, happy travels and do enjoy your time in Rome with your family. I look forward to your return."

"Thank you, again, Don di Tosoni, for everything."

With that di Tosoni gave her a bow and left them.

Cardinal Bembo left her next to see to Donatella and Lucrezia took a seat at her desk; it was unfortunate that Donatella was so hurt, and of course she was blamed for the man's unfortunate outcome, but she didn't care; the man had been a threat that needed to be put down, like the rabid cur that he was, plain and simple.

She had other things to concentrate on, namely the interview she was to take with the Duke of Ferrara within the next three days; she was anxious and more than dreading it. All she wanted was Cesare, if she only saw him but once a year, or once every five—or even never again—it did not matter, for her heart would soar even at the memory of him in the times of their absence from each other. She did not want to be bothered with a husband at all if that husband could not be Cesare, and that was God's honest truth. As a matter of fact, Lucrezia often wished she had a sister, or that the sisters she did have were acknowledged by her father and could be offered up for his political aspirations in her stead. As she sat lost in her impossible daydreams Cardinal Bembo came back into the office.

"Cardinal Bembo—that was a quick affair..." she said as she looked up at him, startled out of her thoughts.

"It was no affair at all, my Lady—the woman categorically refused my ministration," he said with an amused smile.

"That surprises me not, Cardinal. Well then, we should say goodnight."

"Should we?"

"Cardinal..." she began with a tired sigh.

"_Pietro._.." he came to her, took her hand and raised her up out of her seat.

"Cardinal Bembo, I am tired; I leave first thing in the morning—"

"And I shall miss you, Lucrezia..." he said softly as he drew her closer to him and nuzzled her neck.

"Cardinal—enough. My heart is not with you, I must be frank about that; and I leave tomorrow to make arrangements for a marriage where my heart will find no anchor, either. I am flattered by your attentions, but you would do well to direct them toward one who would reciprocate them, for that one is not me, I am compelled to say this to you."

"Lucrezia, my heart breaks for you at your unhappiness—can I offer you no comfort? Truly, I am feeling most useless tonight."

"That, you are not, Cardinal; I truly value your friendship and this shoulder you have been so gracious to provide me all of this time, but I do not endeavor to heap false hopes upon you..."

"You have not, Lucrezia, and your honesty has been appreciated. Again I say, if I could replace that shield around your heart with my loving arms, I would—and maybe someday you will let me; until then you must know that I will never give up; I will be here when you return and I hope to see you happier, I truly wish that for you, Lucrezia; I will pray for it."

"So, you truly are my friend..." She gave him a sad, weak little smile.

"Please tell me that you did not doubt it..."

"I will tell you that I did."

The cardinal let out an incredulous little chuckle; he could have been hurt by her remark but found that he truly was not. "My Lady, I find it impossible not to forgive you..." he smiled down at her.

Lucrezia put her palm to his cheek and gazed intently into his eyes. "Thank you for that...and please know that I shall never doubt it again, _Pietro_."


	25. Undone

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 25 Undone

* * *

Lucrezia was so filled with joy at the prospect of returning to Rome, even briefly, that she was too excited to eat breakfast the next morning before she left; she saw to Giovanni's needs and insisted that Miracella have her morning meal amidst her and Pietra's protests that Lucrezia should not go without a meal herself.

"My Lady, you must eat something..." Pietra begged her as Miracella left Giovanni's nursery reluctantly.

"No, my stomach is in knots already...please just pack enough water and a loaf of bread for me, Pietra, it is really all that I'll be able to manage, but do pack something nice for Miracella."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, my Lady?"

"I need you here, Pietra, to keep and eye on things..." Lucrezia said delicately.

"You mean Donatella..."

"Yes; I understand her sadness and discontent, but I will not go through another episode as distasteful as the one I experienced with Tomas; I shall keep my eye on her and give her a chance to get over her upset but if she does not and continues to hold me in contempt she will have to seek employment elsewhere."

"I understand, my Lady."

"I do not seek to place you in an untenable situation, Pietra; I am not asking you to be a spy, only a presence, while I am gone. I trust that Maria holds the rest of the staff under her capable and authoritative sway, but she is also a friend of Donatella and will cover for her; I am hoping that with you here Donatella will curb her worst sentiments and come back to herself more as her grief abates—I must give her that opportunity, whether or not she is aware of it, or even appreciates it."

"You are most fair, my Lady; I know what they say about me but I can handle them, for I sleep well at night knowing that you are such a kind employer and appreciate that I can please you without doing harm or sabotage to others, or without compromise to myself."

"Thank you, Pietra, it is my honor to hear you say such words," Lucrezia gave the girl a warm and genuine hug. "There are things I cannot divulge to you at the moment, but it is my wish, before your service is done with me, to secure suitable husbands for you and Miracella, both. I've had my eye on some fine gentlemen in town that I would endeavor to make your acquaintance to when I return, for I'm afraid your employment with me shall end much sooner than I expected. You would like to stay here in Nepi under such a circumstance, would you not?"

"Oh, my Lady! I most certainly would! Thank you for your kind consideration!" the girl said excitedly.

"I'm not sure about Miracella—her heart appears to still be bound to Rome, but I shall put the same prospect to her and see how she feels."

"I hope she says yes, my Lady, this is a most lovely town."

"It is—pray on it as I will, yes, Pietra?"

"I will, my Lady. I'm off to pack the three of you a basket now," Pietra smiled happily at her before she took her leave.

Lucrezia's smile at Pietra faded as soon as the door closed behind her; she went to Giovanni, who was awake and content in his crib and then sat heavily down in the chair next to it; as happy as she was to go home she still wished that she did not have to face the prospect of another husband; she knew that she was bound already to say yes to the man—her father and her brother had negotiated it and sealed the deal. What really was the point in meeting him at all? And who was this man, really? Could she truly be expected to believe all of his heady promises? Whether they came from Cesare's mouth or his own—where was the rub? Surely, there had to be one.

And then there was the other matter that made her heart heavy and her head ache—could she possibly be carrying her own brother's child? Could she live with such a secret if it turned out to be true? There surely had to be a special place in hell for them, both, for all that they had done—and all that they yet might dare to do—and there was no one on earth that she could unburden herself to, not even an unknown priest in a confessional. Lucrezia determined within herself that she would not succumb to another outburst of tears, for she had spent most of her night doing that, already; she got up and went to a window and opened it, then took a deep breath of the cool morning air before she closed it back. She went next to Giovanni and lifted him gently from his crib.

"Oh, my little darling..." she spoke sweetly yet so sadly to him, "Mama will get through this moment and this day; I will see your grand-mama and papa and shall keep my tongue and my temper; I shall reign in my truest heartaches and meet this Duke, charm him, lie to him, if I must, to secure a future for you and your little brother or sister, yes? For neither of you asked to be brought into this world; and for my sins I will pay, my love, but not you—never you...that is my promise to you both..."

* * *

By seven that morning Lucrezia had bid her court adieu and was on the road home to Rome. Pietra noted that her lady's joy from earlier that morning had turned to the same melancholy she'd been overcome by upon her arrival to Nepi and her heart went out to her—the woman truly did not want to marry again; it was more than evident that her joy at returning home was over-shadowed by the advent of her next sure betrothal. Miracella, on the other hand, had been positively giddy. Pietra was sure that had everything to do with the head coachman, Dante Pileggio, who had settled his attention recently upon her and away from the caustic Signorina del Vecchio. Even though he seemed like a bit of a ladies man Miracella was the nicer girl and he looked like he knew how to show a woman a good time—and Miracella had long been in need of a good time; Pietra was happy for her. As the carriage and the fifty cavaliers that flanked it disappeared from sight of the castle gates Pietra went back inside to help clear away breakfast.

"Ah, there she is—the lady's favorite, left behind to keep watch on us all," Donatella sneered at her from her seat at the dining table.

"Donatella, mind yourself..." Maria warned her.

"No, Maria, let her be herself and mourn her man as she will," Pietra told her, more than unfazed at the woman's venom directed at her.

"So, you don't deny it then," Donatella continued.

"Enough, woman, or you'll be next with walking papers from the Lady," Ersilio grunted at her after he finished his cup of tea and rose irritatedly from the table.

"Of course you have no problem with any of this, Ersilio—all it takes is money with the lot of you—and the Spanish bastard bitch's favor—tell me, does the Lady's asshole taste as sweet as her smile looks? Surely, you would know..."

"I've work to do," he hissed at her as he slammed his cup down on the table. "I suggest you get to yours, if you know what's good for you."

"Really? And what would be good for me should I choose not to be a good little lapdog at my Lady's feet? Eh? A trip down a craggy cliff in the foggy dead of night? Like my Tomas?" she slurred at him; Lavinia looked askance at her; the only others left at the table by then were Cristoforo, who silently decided that it was a good time to join his brother, Vicenzo, out in the stables, and Tiberio, who followed closely behind him out of the kitchen to go chop some firewood.

"I've had it to here with your rantings and accusations, woman—it's as if Tomas has come back to haunt us by possessing your very soul," Ersilio told her in great disgust.

"And what if he has? I welcome him and am honored to receive him..." Donatella threw her arms open wide, then hugged herself; through closed eyes she began to rock herself in a gentle sway.

"You speak the words of an insane person, " Lavinia spoke up then, unsettled by her friend's on-going spiral into dangerous discontent; she took the woman's cup and sniffed it, then screwed-up her face in certain distaste. "And you're in your cups? So early in the morning—you have been possessed..."

Donatella's eyes shot open then, and were full of anger and despair. "Yes! I'm possessed! By my love, I am possessed!"

Pietra said not another word to any of them as she gathered a washboard and a bucket and left to go do the washing.

"Some spy you are, eh? Come back, spy!" Donatella rose on drunken unsteady legs and called after Pietra.

"Enough, Donatella! Lavinia, finish those dishes up for me please, I'll be back shortly...I've got to get her ready for her appointment this morning—come on, you..." Maria went to her and took her by her arm gently.

"Yes, ma'am..." Lavinia gave her a little curtsey and took Maria's dish cloth.

"No! I don't want to go to bed—I want my Tomas!" Donatella wailed as she tried to sit sit back down. "This was his chair, you know...his favorite seat at this table...where he used to sit next to me..." she said as if in a trance.

"Stop it, Donatella! And give it up, already—Tomas did not love you—he hated you as much as he hated the Borgia's; and the Jews...and the Moors—anyone not Roman—and his own sorry life..."

"Ersilio, no..." Maria hissed at him.

"She needs to hear it, Maria—he hated you for being a Jew," Ersilio erupted at her. "He doesn't deserve your tears, woman, and certainly not your defense," the man railed unmercifully at her.

"I am no Jew! He loved me! What do you know, Ersilio, you were no friend of his!" she roared at him.

"Maybe not, but I heard his condemnation of you and often..."

"He was drunk!" Donatella made to lunge and swing at him but Maria held her back.

"No, Donatella, he wasn't always drunk; but he was always conflicted over you, _del Vecchio_..."

"I am a good Roman! My family has been here for centuries!" she shrieked at him.

"Yes, after they were expelled from Jerusalem!"

"How dare you!"

"I care not, Donatella, but he did!"

"No! He loved me!" She broke down into more wretched tears.

"He loved you but he despised you more, Donatella; that man was full of hate and prejudice—why do you think he never married you?"

"Ersilio, that's enough from you now—go to work..." Maria yelled at him as the woman sobbed into her stout chest. "As a matter of fact, you go and identify his body, for this girl is simply in no condition to do so now...yes? YES?"

"Yes, Maria, I'll go," Ersilio said finally.

"Damn right, you will," she pronounced at him; she turned her attention back to her drunken friend. "Here now, that's quite enough, Donatella—let's get you to your room now and sleep it off," Maria coaxed her as she led the distraught woman away to her quarters.

* * *

When Lucrezia arrived at Castel Sant'Angelo she went directly to her mother's apartment.

"Lucrezia, my love! Giovanni! My loves!" Vannozza exclaimed happily as she approached them where they stood at her door, with her arms open wide.

"Mother..."

"Oh, I've missed you so! My darling, beautiful girl," Vannozza smothered them both with kisses. "Your father is conducting Vatican business now, of course, and you shall see him at dinner tonight—how are you, my love? How are you feeling?"

"The nausea has started already, I'm afraid..." Lucrezia said sourly.

"Let me look at you—turn around—yes, like that—no, you're not showing yet..." Vannozza surveyed her as she cradled Giovanni in arms.

"It has only been two months or so, mother..." Lucrezia reminded her irritatedly.

"You're tired, my love, and distraught—I can see it all in your face. Try not to worry, my love, the Duke is most pleasing—you will find him to be kind and soft-spoken—but do not take it for a weakness—he is a warrior-born, like your brother, and he does not mince words."

"Joy," Lucrezia replied testily.

"Yes, you most assuredly need to take your rest, my love, for there is only ever one time when you are so uncharacteristically disagreeable, and that is during your pregnancy..."

"I am disagreeable, mother, because of the immediate future that awaits me," Lucrezia snapped at her mother.

"At least you get to meet him, Lucrezia—I made sure to see to that, ever since—"

"Yes, ever since Sforza, I know, mother. What does it matter? I'm sure the ink on the contract is as crusty as a stale loaf of bread."

"You chose Alfonso for yourself, Lucrezia, and—"

"Yes, I did—and we see how well that worked out, hmm? Father allowed that once but I am sure that with this alliance the benefit is all his; this interview tomorrow is a sham, meant to appease me, make me feel as if I have a say in my fate when we all know that I do not."

"Alright, that's enough—to my bed for a nap...now—you'll be human when you awake—at least I hope so—and then we can talk, for you are being more than impossible at the moment," Vannozza dismissed her daughter firmly. "Well, stop standing there glaring at me and go on—Giovanni is mine—go _now_, Lucrezia," Vannozza ordered her daughter.

Lucrezia left without further argument and when she closed the door to her mother's suite she flung herself onto the bed then rolled over on her back and stared vacantly up at the ceiling. Marriage. All that marriage had ever amounted to in her life had been death: the death of her first husband—who had deserved it; the death of her second, who had not; the death of her innocence.

Marriage had meant blood: the blood of soldiers and innocent citizens; the blood of kings; blood shed at the hands of brother against brother; blood on Cesare's hands, that was same as the blood on her own. And so much blood on her hands, too: Giovanni Sforza's; King Ferdinand's; Prince Raphael's; Alfonso...Paolo...Juan.

Her tears came in a torrent then, for them all, but especially for Alfonso, whose love had been destined never to be enough for her; and sweet, gallant Paolo, who found death because she dared to love him, at all; and Juan...who had loved her once but had turned so cruel and so weak; he had been a total failure as Gonfalonier, but it was his egregious actions against little Giovanni, and therefore herself, that had sent Cesare to his rage and broken the last fragile thread of their volatile relationship and thus Juan to his death. And now there was the blood of Tomas Gambino on her hands. Where would it all end? Pondering that question she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her hands and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Although it had presented a host of complications, Rodrigo had been genuinely happy to hear that his daughter had another precious child on the way and had told her so in his letter that summoned her home. He had two interruptions that day as he went about his duties: one notifying him that his daughter had arrived; the other, in the early evening, as Cardinal Farnese finished his financial report, that the the Duke of Ferrara would be in Rome with the sunrise the next morning.

When the young cardinal realized his words were falling on deaf ears he stopped abruptly. "Your Holiness? Are you alright?"

"Oh..." Rodrigo chuckled, "forgive Us, Cardinal—thank you for your report—We are glad to hear that solvency it not at issue at the present moment. No, it has been a long day and Our daughter awaits Us."

"Very good, Your Holiness, please give her my regards?"

"We will...uh, how is your dear sister, these days? Is she a happy bride?"

"She is, Your Holiness, thank you."

Rodrigo gave a relieved smile at him.

"Will Lady Lucrezia be in Rome long enough to see Giulia? It would make my sister most happy if they could see each other, Your Holiness."

"Ah, We wish it could be so, but Lucrezia will only be here for a few days; you may, however, inform your dear sister that Lucrezia will return to Rome soon and stay until she is betrothed again."

"Giulia will be pleased to hear it, Your Holiness."

"And you, Alessandro—how do you fare these days? It has been a while since We have had a moment with you."

"I am fine, Your Holiness, thank you for asking. I am more than fine, actually—Silvia is with child, Your Holiness—I am to be a father!" the young man told him then, unable to hold back his excitement.

"Ah! Congratulations, Alessandro, that is wonderful news, indeed. Give Our kind regards to your Lady and let her know that Our blessings and best wishes are ever with the three of you, hmm?"

"I will, Your Holiness, thank you so much."

"Very good then—Our lovely families await us, then, do they not? Close your ledger books now and go on to yours; have a happy evening, Cardinal," Rodrigo smiled at him as he gave a fatherly pat upon Alessandro's shoulder.

"And you as well, Your Holiness...goodnight."

Rodrigo left the smiling man and headed off to have dinner with the two most important women in his life.

* * *

"What do you mean, she will not come out, Vannozza? I've not set eyes on my daughter for months now, and she refuses to see me?" There was great hurt registered in Rodrigo's voice as he paced the anteroom between the salon and Vannozza's suite, where his daughter had locked herself away from them.

"I have tried to get her to come out, my love, but she has locked the door and will not answer me...not even to Giovanni's cries has she responded..."

"Oh, no..." Rodrigo moaned wearily, "what now? What is it, now?"

"I don't know, but it appears to be worse than when she refused Giovanni her breast to secure his father a proper burial..."

"The Duke arrives at sun-up, this cannot be happening..." he sighed his great consternation at her.

"I know that she truly desires not to marry again, but I had no idea that it was _this _bad, Rodrigo...she is as a soldier who's come home from war, vacant and damaged, and jumps to the ceiling at the sound of a twig breaking under foot..."

Rodrigo and Vannozza heard the crisp snap of a cloak being cast aside and the heavy clank of armor announcing bold steps coming toward them then."That's because she is a soldier indeed, weary from battle and undone...and each of us is to blame," came the stern voice of their son when he came to a halt before them.


	26. The Gamble

I own nothing.

The Borgias S3E10

Pt. 26 The Gamble

* * *

"Cesare! My love..." Vannozza rushed into her son's arms in tears.

"Mother," he gave her a reassuring hug as Rodrigo came and joined them. "Father."

"Cesare, your sister—" Rodrigo began woefully.

"Leave her to me—leave us," he said simply and with an adamance that was reverent and full of love, yet forceful enough that his parents found themselves unable to disobey him; they left quietly with worried looks on their faces but without another word between them; when Cesare heard the door close he went and locked it, then went to the door his sister was locked behind; he leaned close to it then rested his forehead upon it.

"Lucrezia—I know that you hear me," he said softly against it; on the other side Lucrezia went to it and did the same; finally he heard the lock tumble and then saw her tear-streaked face appear as she slowly opened the door; she stepped aside to allow his entry and then closed it behind him. "What is this, sis?" he asked her as he took her gently into his arms, "Talk to me, my love..."

Lucrezia yielded to his touch as he pushed a stray lock of her golden hair out of her eyes; she looked into his then, amazed that he was there at all and almost thought him to be a figment of her imagination. But how could that be, she wondered, for his touch and his presence sent through her whole body the familiar passion that always engulfed them when they came near each other, that felt like the heat of a thousand summer seasons rolled into one day.

"How is it that you are here, brother? And straight from the battlefield, I see..." she asked him as she caressed the gold armour plate upon his shoulder.

"I stay in contact with father, you know that; I know the Duke arrives in the morning—this? A small skirmish..." he said as he took her hand away from the cold armour and then kissed her palm. "I will take Rimini soon and rid the people there of the scourge that is the House of Malatesta. I have left my army under Micheletto's sure command, for you had to know that nothing would keep me away from seeing you upon your return to Rome."

"It is getting harder for me to forget you, Cesare, during the times when we are apart..." she said sadly as she looked down at the floor. "When I am not thinking about you I think of the blood...all of the blood...on my hands—on yours because of me..."

"And what of it, sis? I would not take back a single drop! Not of any that spilled from those that harmed you," he declared ferociously.

Lucrezia looked at him with longing and despair before she broke out of his strong grip upon her and walked silently away with her sorrowful thoughts; Cesare rushed her and took her violently back into his embrace.

"You know that I do not take kindly to you turning your back upon me, sis...what is your trouble—you must tell me..."

"I do not want this marriage, Cesare! I cannot do it! I do not want it!" She tried in vain to break free of him.

"The Duke is an honorable man, Lucrezia..." Cesare began, feeling as helpless as he sounded.

"So you say—only I will truly be able to judge that even though it matters not! It is what you and father want, always what you and father want! Let me go, Cesare..."

"You must calm yourself, sis..." he grunted as he struggled with her. "Lucrezia! Stop this!"

"All I want is you, Cesare; and I know that I cannot have you, I know that; but if I could only be left alone! I would leave here, leave Rome and escape to a happy life in a convent were it not for Giovanni and this one...this...one..." she looked down at her belly in horror.

"Lucrezia?' Cesare's tone was a warning and a question as he looked at his sister, whose mind seemed to be unraveling right before his eyes. "Lucrezia?"

"This one, who could be your very own—our very own..." Lucrezia took a deep breath and tried to collect herself; she looked into her brother's eyes and gave a little shake of her shoulder within his grasp and he reluctantly let her go.

Cesare realized that the words he had said to his parents were horrifically true as he watched his sister become quiet and withdrawn; she backed away from him and then sat down upon the edge of the bed, as if in a trance, and looked away from him. He approached her cautiously and when he was finally upon her he got down on one knee and took her soft hands, folded upon her lap, into his own.

"Lucrezia...I have harmed you—_I_...have harmed you—must I spill my own blood to make this right?" he asked her tormentedly. Lucrezia looked back upon him and found tears streaming down his face and past his trembling lips.

"Never, Cesare, must you say such a thing to me. No more blood; there must be no more blood; not on your hands, ever again, for me."

"You said before that we are bound to heartbreak, Lucrezia; I know that, whether we continue our love for one another or if we do not, it is true; it pains my heart more than I can bear, even as I dare to say it—even though I love you more than my own life, if you are ever to have one of your own I must let you go and you must do the same of me."

"I would not have to let you go if I were free not to marry."

"But you must..."

"Hmm..." she looked away from him again and stared vacantly into the space before her.

"Lucrezia..."

"Well, there is always the bargain then, is there not? That you and I made to marry this man and let the safe harbor of marriage enable our pursuit of each other, yes? I will have that, at least."

"No, Lucrezia."

Lucrezia's head whipped around to see that Cesare's tears had begun to stream anew. "What did you say to me?"

Cesare found that he could not utter the words again.

"You said 'no'? No, Cesare? No?" she asked him incredulously.

"Lucrezia, your torment is mine; there is no rest or relief from the dagger that plunges into both of our hearts at this moment unless we...unless we...release...release each other to life," he struggled to get the words out.

"To life? There is no life for me without you, Cesare, do you not know that?"

"Then you will have to try and find one, sis..." he said sadly as he rose up slowly from her.

"Cesare? Cesare..."

"I...I do not think that it will be a difficult thing to do—I am confidant that the Duke—"

"And this child in my womb, Cesare? What of him?" she cut him off angrily, for she was tired of hearing anything at all about the Duke.

"I shall love as my own, whether he is mine or not, just as I love Giovanni; but if he is mine, the world must never know it, for that is a scandal you must be spared from, and that is simply all there is to that, and you know it. Do you think that this is something I want to do? It is not..."

"Then don't do it, Cesare, do not abandon me."

"I am not abandoning you; if you are to have a life—and more importantly, your sanity—then we must release each other, sis, from this torment..."

"You think, Cesare, that you can say the word 'release' and, just like that it can happen? That I could achieve such a thing? I would not, even if it were possible; I appreciate your good intent, but if you call my sanity into question now my love, my only love, then you will surely set eyes upon a mad woman, as will the world, if take your love from me," she threatened him.

"Lucrezia, you know that is not my intent..."

"Then stop this, Cesare, and never utter those words to me again. The promise of you is the only way that I will get through this abhorrent endeavor, do you not understand that? Even if I do not have you with me in body, I must know that your heart is ever with me in spirit."

"Do you think that this is easy for me, sis? You are to be married!" he railed, as he stood towering above her. "The conflict that rages within me is more treacherous than any battle I could ever fight upon a field! I love you...tragically! I want you...always! It is a love that binds us yet tears us so viciously apart! I want your happiness but your happiness will never be a tangible thing with me in your life, and this man offers you exactly that! A Life! Safety and protection! Honor! Acceptance! Love! For you and your children, Lucrezia. I appreciate and hate him for it! And what am I to do with that? For my love for you causes this—you locked behind a door, unhappy and undone, seeking from me what I wish to give, knowing full well, that I cannot give it though it is what my heart truly desires! What else can I possibly do? What can we possibly do?"

Lucrezia rose to stand before him and said nothing as she took his face into her hands and gave his lips her first sweet, hungry kiss.

"Lucrezia? Did you not hear a word that I just said?" he gasped at her when their lips parted.

"I heard them with my whole soul, my love...now hear mine..." she said softly before she kissed him again.

"Lucrezia? In mother's bed? Cesare asked uneasily even as he was drowning in her. "And they are waiting for us..." he murmured as he gave in to her completely, and began to strip out of his armour with her help.

"I go to my doom in the morning, my love—let them wait...let the whole accursed world wait..." she whispered as she slipped away from him to lay upon the bed; she reached out her hand to him and waited for him to join her.

* * *

"Cesare? Is she alright?" his worried mother asked him when he found her in his father's apartment.

"She is...better. She is refreshing herself and asked me to reassure you both that she has come back to the world of the living. She is anxious to put her arms about you, father, and looks forward to dinner tonight," Cesare informed them gruffly.

Rodrigo and Vannozza exchanged flabbergasted looks at one another.

"Will she go through with her appointment in the morning, Cesare?" Rodrigo asked exasperatedly.

Cesare took short, resolute strides toward his father, his face angry and his tone angrier. "You will do well, father, not to display your truest concern to her when you do see her, if your truest concern is not _for _her—are you clear on this?"

"What is this?" Rodrigo grumbled indignantly, "You speak to Us for the second time today as if We are the child and you are the parent—We will not tolerate it!"

"Then act like a parent and not a child—and not a Pope,"Cesare shot back at him.

Beside him Vannozza stiffened at Cesare's understandable yet loving insolence and cast her eyes to the floor before Rodrigo looked his unutterable frustration at her.

"Cesare..." Vannozza dared to put a careful hand to his arm, "is she—"

"She will see us all at dinner," he told his mother abruptly and then left them both for his own quarters.

* * *

Dinner was a delicate affair that night; Rodrigo was truly pleased to see his daughter, at last, but following his son's sure command he kept his conversation with her confined to her health, and her pursuits in Nepi, which he indeed knew very well about from his reports from Cardinal Bembo; Cesare had been content to sit by silently as his parents, both chomping at the bit to discuss the Duke, did well to say nothing about him at all.

Lucrezia excused herself early to put Giovanni to bed while Cesare remained to catch his parents up on his own exploits before he and his father left Vannozza to discuss headier business. When he was done with his father he went to his sister, awaiting him again with open arms in the suite of her own apartment.

* * *

"No, Holy Father," she said simply.

"But every one is assembled, Lucrezia..." Rodrigo told her exasperatedly.

"You said that I would have the opportunity to speak to the man privately; I will do it before this announcement is made to the consistory, not after," she informed them firmly.

"You could have told Us this last night, daughter..." Rodrigo found it impossible not to display his upset, to which Lucrezia was totally unaffected by.

"I endeavored to have a truly pleasant time with you last night, Holy Father, and that I did; I know that you are anxious to get on with this but the consistory has waited on me before and when I was ready they were always there, were they not?" Her sarcasm was more than Rodrigo could bear.

"We have absolutely had quite enough of this, from you and your brother both, Lucrezia—do as you will—let Us go and see him, then." Rodrigo began to walk away, headed for the room where the Duke was housed and awaiting his introduction.

"Alone, Holy Father—I will see him alone." Lucrezia's words stopped her father in his tracks.

"What, now?" he turned around and settled his angry eyes upon her.

"Why is the need for such expediency required, Rodrigo? This is only the betrothal we are announcing, they will not marry before her period of mourning is over...let our daughter have this moment alone as she requests..." Vannozza interjected.

Lucrezia said nothing as she ignored them all and walked past her father, who was stunned and taken aback by her; when he made to go after her Cesare quietly, but with a stern look, put his hand to his father's arm and stopped him; the three of them watched then as Lucrezia disappeared behind an office door.

* * *

"My Lady!"

The Duke and his retinue, expecting to see a guard call them forth, arose from their seats and were startled when they turned and saw Lucrezia at the door; she gave a curtsey to them all and then waited as the Duke realized that she meant to speak to him alone; he waved his retinue away from the room and then held her seat for her as she sat down.

Lucrezia moved as if she was in a daze, as if her body and mind had been separated from each other; she took him in then and noted that what her mother had said of him was true: he was roughly the same age as Cesare but had the beard of an old man; though he was not unpleasant to look at Lucrezia was not particularly moved by him. She faced him across the table feeling as blank and empty as she surely looked and cared not as she gave him a wan smile. If the Duke was disappointed by her seeming lack of enthusiasm he gave no outward sign of it.

"Lady Lucrezia, believe me when I tell you it that is my greatest honor to meet you and be in your presence, at last. I know that you have questions—at least I hope that you do, but I would be most appreciative if you would hear me out first, for I have things I must say to you and I want you to be clear about me. Will you do that?" he asked as he took his own seat.

"I will."

"Thank you, my Lady. I am a simple man; I have a family that I love dearly, just as you do your own; I have a place in society that I had no control over being born into, just as you have been; I feel a duty to others, not just to my family, that is impossible for me to ignore—and is often honored even before my duty to myself or my truest desire for myself—which has been a condition of your life, as well. I understand you, Lucrezia.

The Duke noticed Lucrezia's bland countenance began to show a flicker of interest.

"We live in a time that is fraught with discontent; greed; mayhem; ever-shifting politics that often pits brother against brother, father against son and and is responsible for the most egregious crimes of men against women; a time when the lines between good and evil blur ever so gently before our eyes and turn good intent to bad, and then bad intent to blood.

"All of this I say to tell you that I am not a man without sin; I am not a man who has not spilled blood; I am a man who has had to deal with the discontents, jealousies and plays for power within my own murderous family as well as without. I wish that you not take offense at that statement, is not a judgment upon you or your family, my Lady. I merely seek to make you understand that I recognize in you, and your experiences, my own life.

"I know all of the most salacious rumours that circulate around you and your family. I do not believe in rumours, only what I see with my own eyes. I see with my own eyes that you love the whole of your family immensely. I see that you and your brother, Cesare, share a love that is more than familial."

A guilty tear came to Lucrezia's eye.

"Again, my Lady, this is not a judgment against you, please understand. I have made a sincere friend of your brother and I honor that he considers me the same. But I realize that I am in the middle of a great conflict—and a great love. I would endeavor to have you love me thus, should it ever be possible, but should it not happen all I ask is that you be discreet; honor me as a man, as I will honor you as a woman, by keeping the truth clear between us in that and all matters; I am not a fool; and I am a jealous man, but I am not a brute. And there is something in you that makes me long to protect you, and love you, even if that passionate love goes unrequited. I would be your friend, Lucrezia; your ally; your confidant; your champion in all things; I will honor and care for you and your children the same as our own, if you would see fit to grace me with any.

"I know that you have no doubt heard about my patronage of the brothels. I am a man, Lucrezia, and I have my needs. It would not be realistic in this bargain to expect me to forego the pleasures of the flesh elsewhere if our marriage turns out to be a courtly affair only. I had a wife, as you know, and I loved her greatly and she loved me the same. Should I be so blessed to have that experience again, if our love was a thing that was truly between the two of us alone, then the brothels are an activity I would surely and happily give up.

"I have a court to offer you and your son; I offer security, not just for the comforts of the life of a genteel lady, but against the tangible—and terrible—aggressors who would seek to rob you of such comforts and your very life, as well; I offer you a city, full of culture and art—and love—that I would like to share with you. I offer you my heart and my hand even if my hand is the only thing you may ever hold dear. All I ask in return from you is always and ever the truth, for I do not wish either of us to live in an unhappy prison of lies."

Lucrezia was completely overcome by tears then and speechless.

"May I, my Lady?" Alfonso asked as he produced a clean kerchief from a pocket and held it out to her.

She managed to nod her thanks at him; when she had comported herself at last she looked sadly into his eyes to meet his compassionate ones upon her.

"Dear Alfonso, you have been frank with me and more than accommodating. Yes, I have a truth to reveal to you, as well, more than one actually. This one you already know—it is true about my brother; we have loved each other the whole of our lives even though that love only very recently became carnal. It is wrong and we both know it but we are helpless not to feel it. I cannot explain it any better than that, for it has been a mystery even to ourselves why God would curse us in such a manner on one hand, and bless us so completely with each other on another.

"I will tell you that my brother, although his desire for me had always been there between us, had never acted upon it until...until..." Lucrezia's tears came again and she struggled to get the words out through them; she took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. Alfonso waited patiently for her to continue; when Lucrezia raised her head and looked at him she found kindness still in his eyes. "Until I invited him to do so. I will not give excuses and—"

"My Lady, I would not ask for any or torment you with the desire for details that are not necessary," he said softly. "I appreciate your honesty, more than you know."

"Well, you may not appreciate this, dear Duke—I am with child, and I know not whether this child is the offspring of my late husband or my brother." Lucrezia rose from the table and walked away, unable to bear her own words. "My father does not even know of this, so please do not hold his negotiations with you against him, they were held in good faith. However, if you wish to wash your hands of me I will understand completely, kind sir; I would ask and trust that you keep my confidence and I will explain to His Holiness that..." Alfonso was out of his seat and upon her then turned her to face him.

"Lucrezia, nothing you have said thus far would make me renege on my proposal of marriage to you. If you will have me, I would still endeavor to have you." He offered the careful hint of a smile at her.

"Why? I do not understand—do you not find me the most vile woman to ever stand before you?"

"No, and I would not have you think such a thing of yourself, either. Who would I be to stand in judgment of you? Our worlds are full of treachery—even in our own families there is treachery; it is difficult to find someone to trust, is it not? Someone to love who loves your truest self and unconditionally. Who is to say, that had I a sister such as yourself, the same condition could not have befallen me, as well? It is apparent to me that you have both struggled with this love and still do—you are not the vilest people on this earth, contrary to popular opinion; neither you, your brother or your father. I could not abide this alliance if I felt otherwise, Lucrezia.

"You are Borgia; I am d'Este—we are kindred, Lucrezia, and I love you. From the first day I saw you, I loved you. And now I will have you and keep you; God has seen fit to make it so, of that I have no doubt. Let us both honor that, Lucrezia Borgia? Will you?"

"Duke, I feel as if you are much too good to be true..."

"I am not good, Lucrezia, but I assure you that my heart is true."

"I am confounded by you, I am not afraid to say it..."

"It would be most strange if your were not..." he pulled her into his embrace.

"But you make me feel at ease and I would never wish to hurt you..."

"Then do not hurt me..." he murmured at her. "As long as you remain true to yourself, my Lady—and ever confide those truths to me—we will stand a chance. Will you marry me, Lucrezia Borgia?"

"Yes, Alfonso d'Este, I will."


End file.
